


The Big Gay History of the World

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Great Balls of Fire - Fandom, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: A Song is Born, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Burlesque, Community: reel_sga, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, M/M, Marriage Disaster, Mobsters, Professors, cast of thousands, screwball comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-30
Updated: 2006-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 23:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor John Sheppard and his team have been working on a new encyclopedia for the past 9 years when the 'bad boy' of the Boylesque circuit, Rodney McKay, needs a place to hide. Based on the movie Ball of Fire</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Gay History of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Movies_Michelle, Zoe Rayne and Sherrold all betaed this story, and I'm extremely grateful for that. This story was written for the 2006 reel sga challenge, and my movie prompt was: Ball of Fire (which was later rebooted as the musical A Song is Born). The movie provided the basis for this story, and by 'basis' I mean: the plot, the structure, the characters, and some of the dialog.

> Long ago and far away,  
>  In a world very much like this one,  
>  There lived seven very brilliant scholars.
> 
> For nine years, they worked together  
>  Writing the Big Gay History of the World, as Dr. Sheppard liked to call it,  
>  Which wasn't so much a history as it was an encyclopedia  
>  And the gay thing was more about the professors really.  
>  Except for Zelenka, who preferred the label 'bi'.
> 
> These scholars were well-read and knew everything:  
>  From the depth of the ocean  
>  To seven ways to blow up a sun  
>  To the real reason the Egyptians built the pyramids,  
>  And what the Stargate was used for,  
>  Though none of them were supposed to talk about that.
> 
> However, as they had spent nearly ten years on this project, they did not know that the coffee shop on the corner had closed five years before, or that carbohydrates were back in vogue. There were some other things that they were a little shy about as well....

No place on earth was as spectacular as Lake Washington on a bright spring day, with the sunlight glinting off the water, and not an ounce of wind anywhere. The gentle spring breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms as the group rounded the corner of the arboretum, heading back to the foundation. John could hear Dr. Zelenka and Dr. Emmagan arguing about benefits of a slow pace vs. a faster one—aerobic activity vs. the chance to enjoy the beauty of the landscape—while Dr. Carter walked along between them, head down, caught up in her latest physics journal. At every stoplight, Emmagan would casually curve her arm around Carter, preventing her from stepping out into traffic, while continuing her discussion with Zelenka; at the rear of the group, Dr. Lorne and Dr. Beckett kept a negligent eye out for Dr. Parrish, who had a history of stopping to examine the plants on their walk, and not showing up until dinner time. 

John took a deep breath of fresh, clean air and sighed. Hiring Ronon Dex as the foundation's personal trainer had been the best thing ever. They had four times the productivity since he had arrived, and far fewer sick days. 

They'd even gotten used to having soy milk in their coffee. 

John's watch started beeping at him, and he sighed, clicking the alarm off. "Okay, team, time to go back." 

"Spoilsport," Nick Lorne muttered as he stretched out in the sunlight, his T-shirt riding up enough to see his stomach. "It's a beautiful day." 

"It really is, sir." Sam, like Lorne, had been in the military before joining the project. "Can't we stay out for another hour?" 

"Oh, yes, please!" Parrish piped up immediately, his attention already sliding to the irises lining their path. "There is simply too much to observe this morning to be cooped up inside of the house." 

"The longer we wait, the longer it will take," Teyla said, folding her hands across her chest. "I have no wish to be doing this in another nine years, so I suggest we get back to the foundation." 

"True," John agreed. "We don't want to get bogged down in the letter 'S.'" 

With a huge collective sigh, the group re-formed behind John and headed back to the estate. Behind him, John heard Lorne's distinct whistle, followed immediately by Parrish saying, "Oh, yes, the walk. Right." 

John grinned. They weren't a bad group of guys to have been stuck with for the past nine years, though he really wished at least one of them would have been his type. 

* * *

The moment they got back to the foundation, they all pulled off their coats and headed for the library. A huge, cavernous room, three stories in height, the team had decided to make this their central workspace. The walls were covered in mahogany bookshelves, floor to ceiling, and the carpet was thick and rich, a whirl of dark blues, reds, and greens. John always took his shoes off the moment he entered the house, eschewing the slippers set out in an attempt to save the wood floors, just so he could sink his toes into the carpet. With a fierce sigh, he wiggled his toes and padded over to his desk, turning on the computer before sitting down to work. 

Zelenka was already opening the window behind his desk, letting in some of the spring day as Ronon came in and leaned against the door jamb. "You all look better already." 

"Good morning to you, too, Ronon," Beckett said, wandering past him and up to his desk near the far wall. "Would you mind putting the kettle on for some tea? Earl Grey perhaps, if we have any." 

"We don't. Ask me, you could do with a little less black tea, so I'm only buying herbals and green tea now." 

"Oh, see here now—" Carson's mouth hung agape. "These ideas of yours—" 

"Good morning, Ronon," Zelenka said, sliding past him into the room, and slinging his coat over the nearest chair. "Isn't it a lovely day?" 

"Suppose." Ronon unwound himself and nodded at John and Teyla. "Someone ate the last of the strawberry jam last night." He pointed to the history section. "Found the jar there, behind the gladiator books." He turned and folded his arms across his chest, staring determinedly at Lorne. "You have an interest in gladiators, don't you Lorne?" 

"Just...ah...there really is no good way to answer that, is there?" 

John shook his head 'no,' along with most of the other professors. 

"None of you need the sugar anyway." 

"Oh, uh, dear. Ronon." Parrish stepped forward, wringing his hands. "I'm afraid it was me. I was," he waved toward the greenhouse, "working on the hybridization project, and, uh, got a kind of a," he swallowed, "craving, I guess. For—jam. Strawberry jam." 

Lorne darted a grateful look at Parrish while Ronon snorted. "Yeah, right." 

"Where are my documents, Ronon?" Teyla, who had the neatest desk in the building, sounded dismayed. "I left them on the desk last night." 

Ronon rubbed his hand down his arm. "That poetry stuff?" 

"Yes, the Sapphic odes—" 

"Oh, sorry." He shrugged. "It's in my car. My girlfriend likes that kind of thing." 

"Oh, really?" Sam perked up and looked at him. "The brunette with the—" 

"Big vocabulary, and a tendency to split infinitives." Teyla glared at Sam, then turned back to Ronon. "While it is nice that she enjoys fine literature, I need them for my next article." 

"'kay. I'll get 'em next week. We're sort of broke up at the moment." 

"That will put me a week behind." Teyla inclined her head, her fury written in her eyes. "I suggest that you talk to her today." 

"Yeah, but see—" 

"Today, Ronon." 

Picking up his book, John wasn't really listening to the conversation behind him. He stared out the library window, so peaceful on a beautiful spring morning like this; the sky was a brilliant blue from in here. His own image was reflected back faintly—skin pale enough from the lack of sunlight that his blue and grey bow tie was the most colorful thing about him, muddy eyes nearly covered by the dark hair spilling out on his forehead, with more of it sticking straight up as well, no matter how John tried to get to lay flat. 

He heard a rumble and saw the contrail of a jet flashing across the sky, and sighed wistfully. He would have loved to have been up there himself, but bad eyesight would always keep him grounded. 

"Oh, dear," Beckett said, grabbing his suit coat and pulling it on. "Better get your shirt on, Ronon, and some shoes. It's the lawyer from the foundation headed up the drive." 

"Oh, hey!" yelled Lorne, springing out of his chair and pulling his own suit jacket on. "Maybe you better keep that shirt off." 

"I guess we're in for our semi-annual review, I suppose," Zelenka added. 

"Oh, and you, Dr. Sheppard." Parrish sighed heavily, dragging out his comb. "You have got to be more presentable than that." 

John jerked away before the comb could even touch his head. "Hey, watch it!" 

"Elizabeth Weir is very influential at the foundation." Parrish stuffed his comb back in his pocket in disgust. "You should at least try to look professional." 

"She knows I'm not really interested, so what's the point?" 

"Smile at her bodyguard instead, then." 

"Who? Mr. T? I'm afraid he'd crush me what with those...arms of his." 

"I think they're rather nice," Zelenka said, grinning. 

"Do you even have a coat?" Lorne said, scrambling around on the floor near John's chair before heading back to his desk. "You are the world's worst gay man, I swear. You can borrow one of mine." 

"It'll be too big," Zelenka said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

"Right." Lorne arched an eyebrow at him. "'cause I'm such a big guy." 

"Well, not in the arms, no, that will be too short. But your shoulders are much broader." 

"Hey!" John yelled, but the entire room ignored him. 

"Here," said Sam, stepping between them all to drop John's shoes at his feet and adjust John's tie, while Lorne pulled a spare coat out of his bottom drawer and tossed it to her, rolling his hand to indicate that John should put it on. 

With a betrayed look at them all, John shoved his feet into the shoes and pulled on the jacket, wincing. God, he hated the whole corporate uniform thing. It was really too bad that he hadn't gone into computer science. Surely a startup would have been better than this. 

"He looks fine," Beckett said, smoothing his hair and resettling his own jacket. "She gets what she gets when she pulls one of these surprise inspections on us. We are researchers, you know, not politicians." 

"And I'll smile at Elizabeth if you like." Sam grinned at Parrish who rolled his eyes and stomped off. 

Teyla nodded to Ronon to bring in their guests. 

"Good morning." Elizabeth nodded at everyone, her bodyguard an impressive shadow beside her. The cut of her suit cried designer, the rich burgundy silk blouse standing out against the pale grey around it. John had to admit that she looked good, if he were into that sort of thing. She carried herself with a sense of power and control that John found attractive. 

Her bodyguard, though, wow, he was a stunner. Tight black T-shirt, bald head, arms and calf muscles that screamed hours in the gym. 

"Sit here," Zelenka said, pulling out a ladder-backed chair for her with a soft smile. John had to hand it to him; when he wanted to be, Radek could be quite the charmer. "It's a very nice morning, isn't it Dr. Weir?" 

"Yes, Dr. Zelenka, very nice," Elizabeth said, sitting down. "But I'm afraid I'm not here for the weather. T?" Her bodyguard opened the attachÃ© case he'd been holding and pulled out a sheaf of papers, setting them down on the nearest desk while Elizabeth continued to speak. "The original grant that you were given for this project was four million dollars, spread out over eight years. You have exceeded that limit not only in time, but you are a million over budget. I've had to go back to former General O'Neill twice for additional funds, and I'm afraid the well is drying up. How much longer will this take?" 

Wow. John took a deep breath, and Lorne elbowed him in the side. Right. Smile. He smiled tentatively at the bodyguard, and T arched an eyebrow at him in response. 

Okay, yeah. He'd definitely snap John like a twig if it came to that. 

"Maybe...three years?" Beckett said hopefully. 

"I'm sorry, but that's impossible. I have other projects that need funding, and the foundation simply cannot afford it." 

"Oh, but Dr. Weir. Surely the general would not discontinue Dr. Jackson's greatest work, his memorial?" Parrish gestured eloquently toward the painting of Daniel Jackson that dominated the room, hanging right over the largest desk, which Teyla used for her work. "In our encyclopedia, we guarantee that the work of Dr. Jackson will have an...appropriate amount of space." 

"Three-quarters of a page perhaps?" Beckett said, glancing at Teyla. 

"Perhaps even three pages," she said serenely, "given how radical his theories were when they were first published." 

"As Dr. Jackson was found two years ago and his memory restored, the need for a memorial is not nearly as important as it once was." She brushed her hair back from her face, and sighed. "I'm afraid that even Dr. Jackson has lost interest in this project, caught up as he is in discovering the whereabouts of Atlantis. He's no longer as interested as he once was in human enlightenment." 

"So, does that mean you don't want tea?" Ronon said from the doorway, silver tray in hand, the sunlight catching on his dreads as he padded into the room. "I brewed up some almond rooibos, in case you wanted it." 

Elizabeth smiled as he set the tea down, her eyes flickering briefly with appreciation, and John nudged Lorne in the ribs. Ha! See. Ronon was the one they should have made smile. "Tea sounds lovely, thank you." She poured a little soy milk in after Ronon set down the tray. 

"Try the cookies." Ronon said, leaning against the back of her chair, his voice a rumbling growl. "Just got out of the oven." 

"They do look good." 

Smelled good, too. John realized the whole place smelled like baked sugar, and it made his mouth water. 

"Ginger shortbread." Ronon picked a cookie off the plate and held it up for Elizabeth to bite. "I'm trying some new recipes." 

Rolling his eyes, John stepped forward. "Dr. Weir, it's just that we want to be thorough." 

"Go on, Dr. Sheppard." She glanced at Ronon. "These are really good." 

"Many of the ideas and theories that we are researching aren't in the mainstream texts. It takes time to cover everything, to delve into the past and show the impact on our lives today. Things change so quickly, Elizabeth, and both people and ideas fall through the cracks. It's our job to find them and bring them all back. Take Professor Lorne, our history specialist. He has to constantly re-write the political sections based on recent conflicts in the world. Or Professor Emmagan, and her analysis of the world's religions. Or Dr. Carter's astrophysics, or Beckett's genetics. All of it changes so fast." 

"Leave no idea behind, is that it, John?" 

"Exactly." 

"You are lucky that English changes slowly," she nodded at Zelenka, "as does mathematics." She stood and finished off her cup of tea. "All right, I will see what I can do. But you will try to finish quickly, won't you?" 

"Yes, of course," John said, while everyone else nodded and murmured in agreement. 

Elizabeth tucked her arm in around Ronon, and asked him to give her the recipe before they swept out of the room. 

Zelenka sank down into his chair and pulled out a handkerchief to mop his brow. "We are so lucky that Ronon decided to bake today." 

"Ronon bakes every day," Sam said. "Didn't you guys know that?" 

Everyone turned to stare at her before demanding details on what exactly it was that Ronon baked. 

"Hey!" Someone was knocking on the library door. John turned and looked, and saw a young man in a UPS delivery uniform standing there, grinning at them. "Hope you don't mind, but I saw the kitchen door standing open and thought I'd come in, just in case, you know, something had happened." He had brown shorts, and a brown baseball cap, and his name tag read "Ford"; he also had the biggest, brightest smile as he spoke. "My grandma would never have forgiven me if something happened and I didn't help." 

He didn't look anything like a serial killer, so John said, "Come on in." 

"Hey, now that I'm here, you mind helping me with a few questions? I tried looking this stuff up on the Internet, but I kept getting a whole bunch of answers that just didn't make sense. I need to know something about...Cleopatra." 

"Cleopatra? Why?" Lorne tilted his head and glanced over at Teyla, who looked just as puzzled as he was. 

"This is some kind of think tank, isn't it?" Ford said, gesturing around the office. 

John reached up to scratch his head, but the jacket Lorne had lent him was too tight, so he pulled it off and threw it back onto Lorne's desk. "Well, yes, but—" 

"Cool." Ford hopped up onto one of the desks. "I've dropped off so many interesting-looking packages here, I figured you guys had to know most of the answers to this quizah they've got going on KMIX." 

"KMIX?" 

"The radio station? Monsters in the morning? The zooey babooies? Those guys." He stretched out, arms propping him up on the desk. "Every morning, there's a k-question, and I figure you guys might be able to help me out and answer it. I could sure use the card if I won." 

"Do you have the questions here? We don't listen to the radio a lot." Or ever. There was a record changer in the small salon, and Carter had a CD player, but no one else had so much as a clock radio. When they went into the project, everyone agreed that electronic entertainment devices provided too much distraction; most of their computers didn't even link up with the Internet. 

"Oh, sure!" Ford said, pulling out a handheld device. He pulled a stylus out of the side, and plucked around on the screen a few times, pulling up a file that he handed to Lorne. "There you go. I did most of them myself." 

"I see." Everyone crowded around trying to read over Lorne's shoulder. 

"And you got several of them wrong, too," Zelenka said, pointing at the screen. "That number is prime." 

"Really? Well, blister my puppies." He nodded at Sam. "'scuse my language, ma'am." 

Parrish coughed as Sam smiled and said, "No problem." 

"Do you think you could fix them?" Ford asked anxiously. 

"Sure." Lorne said, while the others murmured in agreement. 

"Sweet. See, I met this dove bar last week. And I figure, if Brazil's right, then I can get the doe out of the bright lights and show her helapios. If you know what I mean." Ford winked at John who nodded back, hoping he'd picked up the gist of what Ford had said. 

"I don't think I understood one word he spoke." Zelenka pulled his glasses off and polished them on his shirt. "Astounding." 

"Neither did I, and my doctorate's in literature," John said ruefully. 

"She's bomasitic, too, up front without wires. A real Latifah, not a Calista." He made a clicking sound with his tongue that Lorne, Zelenka, Carter, and Parrish all tried to copy, making the room echo with the sound. 

"I am still completely mystified." John said, searching for a paper and pen. 

"If I get today's questions right, I get put in a pool for a larger prize. A debtor would be great, free riders and everything." 

"What is a...free rider?" Zelenka said, setting down next to Ford. 

"A free rider? Well, it's a—" 

"There's no such thing." Annoyed, John sounded harsh, but Ford just waved him off. 

"Sure there is. It's the freebies you get with the card. Everyone knows that." 

"Those are dividends." 

"No, they're free riders, cause you get a free ride and you collect your two hundred dollars." 

"Are you getting any of this?" Lorne whispered to Parrish. 

"Not one word in ten." Parrish looked a little dazed. 

"I'm getting about half," Carter said. 

Teyla nodded slowly. "As am I." 

"That goes for divs, squish, benny, roar. It's all the same." 

"What about the doe?" 

"That's what I need the card for. She wants to cirque, and for that, you need a card." 

"To cirque." 

"See some of the Boylesque shows. The circuit trainers. Those guys." He elbowed Zelenka. "I figure she watches them and then we get to do a little room boogie of our own." 

"Room boogie." Lorne smirked and nodded. 

"A little super-G," Ford said, slapping the desk and noticing the time. "Oh, hey, I gotta go. We're timed on our deliveries, so I'm booking it if I'm gonna catch up." 

"Nice young man, don't you think?" said Beckett, waving good-bye at him. 

Zelenka snorted. "You think everyone is a nice young man." 

"Well, aren't they?" 

"He was most likable," Parrish agreed. 

"And I'm an idiot." Sheppard tossed his notebook onto his desk. 

"John, are you feeling all right?" 

"It's my article on slang." John gestured at his pile of printouts. "It's all useless. I forgot how quickly languages change and have spent the past three years researching and embalming dead phases while the world is turning around us." 

"What are you going to do?" 

"Do? Why I'll have to go out and collect new data, that's all. Television, movies, theater—buses and public transportation. Bars, pubs—anyplace people gather and talk. " He collected his wallet and pulled off his tie, opening the top button of his shirt. 

Becket stepped closed, laying his hand on John's arm. "Are you sure—" 

John nodded. "I know this is going to impact getting the article written, but it must be done. Tell Ronon I'll be away, and not to hold dinner for me. I may not be home until well past midnight." 

He could barely hear Dr. Carter as she shouted out after him: "I study the sun, but I don't need to visit it!" 

* * *

By nine that night, John was dragging. He'd been on the metro system for hours, listening to people talk. Ferries, parks, city museums. Shopping malls and their movie theaters. Not to mention the ballpark. 

He couldn't wrap his mind around all the places he'd gone, how many miles he'd walked. Pubs and restaurants, the wharf, Ivar's Acres of Clams. From West Seattle to the Eastside, Renton to Shoreline, he'd covered it all. He'd given out his card to anyone who sounded interested, who had a good grasp of slang and used it all the time. His feet hurt, his shirt stuck to him and he just wanted to rest. 

Just one more stop, he promised himself. He'd still be able to catch a bus back to the foundation's main entrance if he spent a couple of hours in the clubs of Pioneer Square. He passed The Underground, a comedy club, and made his way into the old brick building that housed The Feanix, one of the Boylesque shows that apparently was so popular now. Back when John had signed on with the project, Boylesque hadn't even existed. He stared a moment at the black and white images—men in tight pants and vests, like Vegas-style gauchos; a tall, thin man in a sexy version of the UPS uniform that Ford had worn; and one color picture that completely captivated him, simply because the man's eyes were so blue. The man was dressed in a tight, graduated blue shirt that showed off broad shoulders and muscular arms, and black dress slacks. He was seated at a piano, an old-style swing band behind him, and his lips had a wicked twist to them. John's heart beat a little faster just seeing the picture, and he shook his head at his own fancy. 

_Dr. Rodney McKay, huh?_ thought John as he went inside. 

* * *

The crowd was yelling for his autograph the moment Rodney stepped backstage. He pushed through them with smiles and nods, waving them off as he finally reached his dressing room and got through the door. Heaving a sigh of relief, Rodney sank back against the door; he loved the attention, but God, he really hated the crush of the after-show horde. It had been a good crowd tonight, plenty of big spenders scattered around in the audience. He stood up and loosened his tie, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. Cowen would be here soon, and he liked it when Rodney was ready and waiting. 

Someone pounded on the door and Rodney grinned. Speak of the devil. He jerked open the door with a big smile, only to feel it fade from his lips. Kolya and Kavanagh muscled in past him, shutting the door tightly behind them. 

"Where's the boss? Hey, what's the fever?" Rodney said sharply, when Kolya grabbed his wrist. 

"The District Attorney is looking for you, and Cowen says you have to on the lam." 

Kavanagh nodded. "You have got to get dressed and get out of here before the cops get here." 

"The cops?" Rodney jerked his hand away. "What's up? Why are they after me?" 

"On account of Halling the Athosian having an accident." 

"I've never heard of Halling the Athosian. Who's he?" 

"One of the boys, you know," Kavanagh growled. "Cowen's poker buddies." 

"So he had an accident." Rodney snatched his hand back and glared at the two of them. "And for that, I have to hide out?" He waved Kolya away. "That doesn't make sense." 

"Halling was on a kind of an errand when the idiot grazed a patrol car." Kolya snorted. "And when the cop got out to give him a ticket, he saw Laden in the back, and Laden wasn't looking too good." 

"On account of him being dead and all," Kavanagh supplied helpfully. 

"Killed in the accident?" 

"That's what Halling was going to say, until the cop saw the chains wrapped around his legs." 

This was a total screw up. "Wait...is Cowen mixed up in this?" 

"The DA had him picked up about a half-hour ago, that's why we're here and why you have to get stashed someplace." 

"Cowen's mixed up in a murder?" 

"Yeah." 

"I don't believe it." 

"He was framed, McKay." Kolya tugged on the arm of Rodney's shirt. 

Kavanagh nodded. "They found those pajamas you gave Cowen in the back of Halling's car." 

"The pink ones with the butterflies?" Rodney had meant them as a joke—kinda—but Cowen had no sense of humor. 

"Yeah, those. He gave the whole dozen out to his poker buddies, and right there in the suitcase next to Laden is a set, with Cowen's initials embroidered on them." 

Someone knocked at the door right then, and Rodney jumped upright. "Oh, God, the police." 

"Stall 'em," Kavanagh said, folding himself up to hide in the closet while Kolya pulled out a gun as he ducked behind the dressing room screen and screwed the silencer on it. 

"I'll take care of them," he said quietly, and Rodney couldn't suppress his shudder. 

Rodney smoothed out the fabric on his costume, took a deep breath and opened the door to find an extremely good-looking—if rather dorky—guy looking admiringly at him. 

"How do you do, Dr. McKay?" 

"Hello," Rodney said frostily, leaning as casually as he could against the door jamb. 

"I hate to intrude like this, but—" 

"Yeah, yeah. Cut the corners. What is it?" 

"Ah, I have an inquiry of considerable importance that I need to speak with you about." 

"Just—stop." Rodney rubbed his hand over his face. "God, talk English, will you? Stop with all of the Harvard words. It's like listening to the hamster dance. I don't know anything, so boring me isn't going to get you anywhere. Be military, will you? About face and get out of here." 

The guy's eyes lit up as Rodney talked. "Oh, you do know something, you do. And every word you say just convinces me of that." He started search around his coat jacket. "Now where did I put that?" 

"You got a warrant on you? Or a subpoena?" 

"A subpoena? I'm an English professor. Why on earth would I have that?" He took out a business card and handed it to Rodney. "I'm working on an article about current slang, and I was wondering if I you would mind if I observed you for a few days?" 

"Yeah, I would." Just another guy with a new line. Rodney closed the door as the guy continued to chatter at him about the project, but Rodney's mind was back on trying to figure a way out of his current predicament. 

"It would just be for a few days, three or four at most. And I have other people coming to the institute—" 

"Shove in your clutch, okay?" 

"See, now that's exactly the type of thing I'm looking for." 

"Out, out," Rodney said, unable to completely wipe the smile from his face as he shut the door in the guy's face. He sagged against the door for a moment as Kavanagh and Kolya scrambled out of their hiding places. Tucking the card into his pants, Rodney grabbed his cashmere raincoat as Kavanagh opened the window and crawled out into the alley, extending his hand to help Rodney over the sill. 

"Thanks, but I'm not that fat," he said, and squirmed through on his own, Kolya a few seconds behind him. "Great, rain," he grumbled as Kavanagh dashed for the taxi stand outside the theater, getting them all a cab. 

"Where to?" the cab driver asked. 

"Just keep cruising," Kolya said, while Kavanagh rubbed his chin in thought. 

"What about that warehouse on Denny?" 

"The one with the rats?" 

"No, no rats," Rodney said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Where are you taking me, anyway?" 

"It's only for the night, McKay," Kavanagh growled. "You aren't going to die from roughing it for one night." 

"I will if there are rats around, and trust me, Cowen wouldn't like it if I died because of your stupidity." 

"He'd like it even less if he ended up in jail because of something you let slip." 

"Your place is crawling with cops, and Cowen's place is a no-go as well. They'll have all the hotels covered, and all the flop houses they know about." Kolya shook his head. "You're outta luck, princess. I guess you sleep with the rats tonight." 

"Hey, wait." Rodney snapped his fingers and reached into his pants pockets. "The guy from the theater, that professor—" He pulled out the card and stared at it. "John Sheppard." He looked at Kolya and grinned. 

* * *

Parrish handed John a glass of warm milk just as he was winding down his story. "Was he a blond or brunette?" Parrish asked, worming his way into the group of professors listening to John talk about his day. 

"I, uh, didn't really notice." John grinned and winked at Lorne. "Though he did have excellent arms." 

"Oh, man," Lorne whispered. 

"What was really exciting," John said, taking a swig from the glass of milk, "was the way that he spoke. Abrupt, forceful, and every other sentence with at least a word or two of slang in it, like he didn't even know he was using it." 

"So you spoke to him?" Zelenka asked. 

"Yes, in his dressing room—" 

"His dressing room?" Carson sank onto the floor at John's feet. "Oh, my. I mean, I used to be quite the follower of some bands when I was younger, but...I never visited their dressing rooms." 

"Backstage passes." Teyla's eyes glittered. "I had a friend at a radio station who once procured one for me herself. There was an entire bowl of Smarties set out on the catering table." She sighed wistfully. 

"Oh, Teyla. I didn't know you had a wild youth." Sam smiled brightly at her. 

"But what about the musician?" Parrish demanded hurriedly. "Is he going to join us?" 

"I'm afraid not." John shrugged. "He had no interest in our project. And he told me so in words so...bizarre, they made my mouth water. Not to mention the occasional tonal flattening that indicated his Canadian origins. He's absolutely brilliant." He patted Beckett's shoulder. "He pronounced 'about' as 'aboot' when he told me to 'aboot face.'" 

"That's amazing," Lorne said, mouth slightly agape. 

"But what was it like backstage?" Zelenka said, sitting down on the arm of the overstuffed wingback nearest the fireplace. "I assume there were a...number of good looking actors there?" 

"Possibly wearing tights," Parrish said, nodding, his eyes wide and round. 

"Or tight black leather pants," Sam added. 

"With studs." Carson said softly, and there was a huge, collective sigh. 

"Well, it's, ah, getting a bit late," John said. "And we all have to be up early in the morning." 

With grumbles and sighs, everyone got up, gathering together robes and slippers and late-night snacks, before heading up the staircase to their rooms, only to stop, frozen, as the front doorbell rang. 

"But it's 12:25!" Carson exclaimed. "Who could be calling at this hour?" 

"Oh, it must be the samples I sent for," Lorne said, nodding at Beckett. "I paid extra for immediate delivery." 

"I'll get it," John said, and opened the door. 

Rodney stood there in the rain, black fedora perched on his head, and grinned at John. "Morning, professor." He strode in, and shut the door behind him. "Don't tell me I'm too late for class." 

"Eeek!" Beckett scrambled for the stairway, running for the upstairs, the rest of the team right behind him. 

"What was that?" Rodney asked, watching as the group rounded the corner of the staircase. 

"Those are my colleagues." John smiled his most charming smile. "They were a little startled at your appearance when some of them don't even," his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "have pants on." John tried to tuck his shirt back into his pants. "I'm even half-dressed myself." 

"Oh, that's okay, professor." He winked at John. "I've seen a lot of men in disarray." Rodney strolled into the entryway and glanced around, his eyes sweeping over the crown molding and antique furniture as if cataloging it all. 

"I didn't expect you to be joining us," John said, running a little to catch up, before directing Rodney toward the library. "You were pretty forceful about saying 'no' before." 

"I changed my mind. I got to thinking about it, and decided it might be nice to have my name in a book—my name will be in the book, right?" 

"Oh, yes, certainly." 

"That's what I figured. In which case, who am I to stand in the way of science?" 

John flicked on the lights of the library, scaring Parrish, who had been hiding behind the door. _Loitering with intent to steal jam, no doubt,_ John thought, as Parrish zipped around him and out into the main hall, repeating an endless steam of "Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear." 

Rodney looked behind the door. "Any more of them around?" He glanced around the room, and his brow furrowed. "Wow, I haven't seen most of this stuff since...well, actually, I've never seen this stuff except for photographs and set pieces. Who decorated this place? Let me guess, this place doubles as a mausoleum." 

"This is our work room. The living quarters are upstairs, for the most part. Ronon has his own apartment and only stays here during the days. Says it's freaky at night." 

"I think I agree with him" Rodney whistled as he looked around the walls, his eyes slightly greedy. "That's a lot of books." 

"We have a very extensive collection." 

"I haven't had time to read since...well, it's been a long time." 

"May I take your coat?" 

"Oh, sure, thanks." Rodney absently handed his coat and hat to John, still staring at the walls. "You think I could borrow some of these? Just while you're observing me, of course." 

"I don't see why not." John hung up the coat and hat on the hatstand in the corner, only to be startled when he turned around to see Rodney still in his shimmering blue costume from the show that night. Seeing him in and amongst all of the dusty tomes, Rodney stood out as something fresh and clean and new. Each flick of the wrists as he turned a page made the light catch and dance along his arm, and John felt his mouth go dry. 

Maybe this had been a really bad idea. 

"I wanted to go to college, but my dad said he wouldn't spend money on a fag, and paid for my sister to major in physics instead. Told me if I wanted it badly enough, I could make the money myself." Rodney set the book back down on the shelf and smiled at John. "So I hitched my way across the border, joined a band, and, well, here I am." 

John couldn't stop himself from glancing at where the Rodney's nipples were clearly visible under the tight shirt. "Are you sure you don't want your coat?" 

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm fine." Rodney sank down into one of the overstuffed chairs. "What do you guys do here anyway?" 

"We're writing an encyclopedia. It's my idea, actually." John smiled and nodded. "I got the idea for this in '93 when we did the LBGT March on Washington. Gay pride flags waving from the subway platforms, everyone out and proud about who they were and what they were doing with their lives...I decided I wanted something that would last longer than just a day. So I pitched the idea to Jack O'Neill and his partner Daniel Jackson; they said it sounded like fun." John rubbed his hand across his face. "Then when Dr. Jackson died, O'Neill decided to fund the project in his name, making sure he got proper credit for his place in history." 

"I thought Jackson was alive." Rodney frowned and rubbed at his forehead. "At least I think I heard about him on the news this week?" 

"Oh, he is." John shrugged. "He got better. That's his picture over the desk there, the guy in the glasses." 

Rodney glanced at the picture and back at John. "So, how does this work, exactly. It's been a while since anyone has wanted me for my brain." 

"Well, uh." John ran his fingers through his hair. He really hadn't thought this all out. "I need you here by nine thirty tomorrow, and then I'll ask questions, and you'll try to answer them." 

"Tomorrow morning?" Rodney shook his head. "No, that just won't do." He perched forward in his chair. "What's say we just begin this thing right now?" 

"It's nearly one in the morning!" 

"Oh, who cares, Professor. I do my best work at night." 

"Ah, innuendo!" John scrabbled around on his desk, ignoring the computer to look for paper and pen. "Do you mind if I write that down?" 

"Go right ahead." Rodney waved his hand royally at John and smirked, leaning back in his chair so that the shimmering fabric stretched tight across his chest. "I'm up for whatever you are." 

"It's just—" John cleared his throat. My, it was getting warm in here. "A random discussion—" He took a deep breath as Rodney stretched out his legs, and John could see the clear definition of his cock through his pants. He shook his head and forced himself back on task. "It has to be a scientific inquiry, not a random discussion. With notes. And...and everything." 

Rodney looked up at him through his eyelashes. "Okay, then. Where have you got for me to sleep?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Listen, if you want me here at nine thirty tomorrow…." Rodney stood and leaned over, untying his shoe in such a manner as John could make out the perfect curve of his ass. 

Things whited out for a bit at that. John remembered whispering, "Oh, I do, Dr. McKay, I do," but then he took a couple of deep breaths, ignoring the way his heart was pounding and tried to find his place in whatever it was he had been going to say. 

Rodney was sitting back in the chair, his socks and shoes off, and John had the distinct impression that he was being teased. "You can't send me out in the rain right now, see? Feel this foot." Rodney stuck it out for John to stroke. "Go on. It's completely soaked." 

"Well, it is cold—" 

"That's right, it's cold and it's wet. So if I go out, I'll probably catch pneumonia or something." Rodney flicked his hand at John, motioning him to come closer. "Come on, get closer. Closer." 

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw that the rest of the team had also snuck into the library, and that they were all helplessly being pulled in closer to Rodney. John felt a little like the fly waiting for a spider, but for the life of him, he didn't have the strength to pull away. All he could see was Rodney's eyes and hands, and all he could hear was Rodney's voice telling him to get closer. 

And John wanted to get very close indeed. 

"Oh, come on." Rodney reached out and grabbed the front of John's shirt, pulling him down onto the arm of the chair—and noticing the other professors surrounding them for the first time. "Hello, kids." With a wink, Rodney looked back at John. "Look down my throat." 

"I don't know what I'm looking for." 

"My throat. It's sore." 

"Oh!" said Carson, elbowing his way to the front of the group. "Here let me." He laid his hand on Rodney's arm while Rodney stuck out his tongue and said "Ahhhh." "Hmmm. There's a slight rosiness there, now that you mention it." 

"Slight rosiness? It's cherry-red, I swear. Who are you? The local witch doctor?" 

"This is Dr. Carson Beckett, our geneticist," John said. "I should probably introduce the others, too. This is—" 

"I'm not good with names, so you're wasting your breath. Just let it all creep up on me. I'll get to know them." He grabbed Carson's hand and placed it on his forehead. "I'm running a fever, see?" 

Brushing his thumb over Rodney's forehead, Carson swallowed. "You do feel a little warm to me." 

Rodney looked up at John. "See? You let me go out there right now, and there will be no nine thirty for me. I'm a walking magnet for any germs that happen to be lingering out there in the night." 

"We really can't have him going out on the bus tonight," Parrish said. 

"It's settled, then," Sam agreed. "He can stay in my room, and I'll share with Teyla." 

Lorne snorted, "Yeah, it's not like you ever use it anyway." 

"All right love, let's get you upstairs." Carson held out his hand to help Rodney out of the chair. 

"Well aren't you the charmer." Rodney snagged his hat and coat as he talked. "Where are you from anyway?" 

"Scotland." Carson gave a shy smile, and John felt his heart sink. 

Radek scooted in next to Rodney's other arm and smiled winningly. "I was born in Prague." 

"Oh, now that's interesting too." Rodney patted Radek's arm and turned toward John, making a clucking noise as he winked. Rodney, Radek and Carson all went up the stairs nearly arm-in-arm, the rest of the team right behind them. 

Well, the rest of the team other than John. He felt a little woozy, and leaned back against the wall, thinking about all the ways that this could go wrong. What if the foundation found out that he was keeping a research subject here? And what would Ronon say when he found out? 

Okay, yeah, Ronon would probably just grunt and ask if Rodney was vegetarian. When the dizziness passed, and John felt that he could breathe again, he turned out the lights, and headed back to his own room. 

* * *

The rattling of the doorknob woke Rodney up. Morning wasn't his best time of day, and he had to search around to find some pajama bottoms to put on—Parrish or Peckett or something like that had lent him a pair, but Rodney preferred to sleep in the nude. 

"All right, All right. I'm coming." With a yawn, Rodney pulled on the blue stripped cotton pajamas and opened the door. All...whatever of them seemed to be standing outside of his door. "What's up? And can you turn down those lights? Man wasn't made to be up at this heathen hour." 

"It is ten o'clock, Rodney," the dark haired woman said. "Dr. Sheppard started his round table ten minutes ago. We told him to let you sleep." 

"He didn't like that much." Lorne, the short-haired American said. "Then this arrived, and we thought you might need it." He held out an overstuffed overnight bag, and Rodney grabbed it. 

"Where'd you get this? Who brought it?" 

"Two gentlemen," Beckett, the geneticist said. "One of them had his hair pulled back in a ponytail, while the other was...." He glanced at Zelenka. 

"Quite intense." He smiled brightly. "And dressed rather sloppily. Ronon was quite concerned about the way his jacket bunched up at the shoulders, but the fellow refused to let him smooth it out." 

"Any message?" 

"It was...difficult to translate." The tall, lanky one with the horse-face—Parrish—said. "They were primarily concerned with our produce delivery service." 

"Yes, they said," Carter screwed up her face as she thought, "it's too hot for the lettuce out here. Keep it in the cooler." 

"Ronon is very meticulous about our produce, and he was quite incensed," Parrish assured Rodney. "He would ever let it stay outside and wilt." 

"That's...good to know." Rodney smiled as best he could, feeling a little grim inside. 

"Oh, and he said this," Lorne tapped the huge suitcase, "was the dressing. Do you know what he meant by that?" 

"I, uh, have allergies, and I'm sure they packed special—food, in the suitcase, for me. Special—" Rodney shook his hand like he was shaking a bottle, "salad dressing." 

"Allergies?" said Beckett. "Oh, dear. Perhaps you should make a list of them and we would let Ronon know." 

"Just tell him I'm deathly allergic to citrus." Rodney patted Beckett's shoulder. "That covers most of it." 

"We better hurry," Zelenka said. "It's lemon shortbread day, and he likes to get the baking started early." 

"Yeah, do that. Please," Rodney added as an afterthought, shutting the door, his heart jackhammering in his chest. This wasn't good, not good at all. He unzipped the case and pulled out everything Kolya and Kavanagh left him, piling it up on the bed. Most of it was new and unwashed, still smelling faintly of formaldehyde, but at least they got the right size. There were a few changes of his own underwear, and some of his shirts still tagged with the dry cleaner that Cowen preferred, so they'd obviously stopped there first, and filled in the rest from the mall. He'd have to see about getting the new stuff washed before he could wear it. 

From the pile of clothing, and their message, it looked like they planned on him being here a while. Which meant he should hurry and dress, and try to keep on Sheppard's good side— 

Rodney froze momentarily, as an image of Sheppard from last night, his shirt unbuttoned and hair curling up from his chest darted through his mind; Rodney took a deep breath, then determinedly found a clean pair of boxers. 

He really didn't need to be thinking about Sheppard's good side at all. 

** 

Rodney opened the sliding doors to the dining room and breezed in, nodding at Sheppard and the rest of the round table participants. "Don't tell me you dug in the chat without tweaking me." 

"You're late." Sheppard gestured at the open chair, and turned his attention back to the others. "Rodney will be collaborating with us." 

"Sounds exciting," Rodney said, letting his disbelief color his voice, assessing the other people as he sat down. A bus driver, a store clerk, a barista—Rodney could tell by the smell and the eyebrow piercing—a groundskeeper, and a UPS guy. And Sheppard thought he was going to corral this group and get them to haul grain in tandem. 

"Don't look so surprised. I need to collect data from several different cultural backgrounds. I can guarantee that it won't be dull." He gestured at the box on the table. "Grab a doughnut. But don't tell Ronon I brought them in." 

Not needed to be asked twice, Rodney grabbed the doughnut and looked around for coffee. Apparently, the barista—Laura, by her name tag—had brought in coffee and doughnuts for twenty, along with copies of the morning paper. Ignoring them for the moment, Rodney poured himself a large coffee and joined in the discussion. 

"Now, the phrase 'narf' means—" 

"You're agreeing with someone, but kinda being silly about it," Laura said. 

"But sometimes it's sarcastic." Ford, the UPS guy, was spending his day off with the group. "Like when your buddy says that the Seahawks are a great football team and should be in the Superbowl this year, you respond 'narf'." 

"It's big ideas that don't work out," Caldwell, the bus driver said. "But friendly." 

"I see. So you're calling someone a Dreamer. An Idealist." 

"Eh." Rodney held his hand out flat and waved it up and down. "Sorta. It's more of a...rollercoaster ride." 

"And you're hitching a lift," Caldwell said. "Saying you'll back them up, like they're a criminal mastermind." 

"Whatever it is, is fun," Laura said, "even if it doesn't work out." 

"So. Fun. Silly. Big ideas and no guarantees." John smoothed a hand over his shirt front. "Is that right?" 

"Narf," Rodney said, nodding solemnly. 

It went on like that for days, with Rodney contributing what he could to the discussion, and getting one of John's happy, charming smiles in response. Every morning, Laura brought coffee and doughnuts, and at midday, Ronon growled at them to take a break, bringing sandwiches and iced tea with him and forcing them all out onto the terrace. 

The other professors would join them sometimes, and Rodney couldn't help but relax around them. They were funny and smart, and God, most of them were gorgeous. Parrish was a little too long for his taste, but Lorne seemed to like it, while Rodney would happily listen to Carson and Radek argue just to hear the clashing accents. They talked Rodney into playing the piano for them, and it was like some sort of weird sing-a-long, as long as Rodney stuck to show tunes. It became an impromptu talent show, and Rodney had to admit that if Teyla wasn't a religion scholar, he could have used her in his act on-stage. 

Sam seemed to enjoy Teyla's dancing too. 

But mostly, there was John Sheppard. Rodney and he played cards at night, after the others had gone to bed, and sometimes Rodney read while John worked on his article; the click of keys the only noise in the quiet room. It was nice, still yet companionable, and very different from the life he'd been leading at the theater. 

They talked a lot, too. John seemed to be interested in anything he said, treating Rodney just like he did the other professors—which in a way, was a little disappointing, but Rodney tried hard not to think about that. The whole team listened to him, which felt great; Cowen didn't care at all about anything Rodney thought, just how often he could get Rodney on his knees or get his ass in the air. So this was really...nice. Weird, but nice, and Rodney knew was gonna miss it once everything cooled off and he was back at the theater again. 

His cup was empty, and with a huge sigh, he stood and stretched. "Come on, professor. Can't we take a break? We've been at this for hours." 

"Just one more," John said, turning to Laura. "Now, when you say 'reality check'...." 

Rodney waved him off and went to the breakfast bar to refill his cup. He was feeling incredibly tired—which was odd as he was getting more sleep here than he ever got when he was at the theater—and his stomach was letting him know it was still an hour until lunch. He unfolded the newspaper Laura always included, and felt his blood run cold as he saw the publicity shot of himself just under the fold with the caption "police seeking mystery boyfriend." Crap. He was going to have to get rid of this. The article with it looked long, and Rodney figured he could read it tonight, catch up on some of the stuff that Cowen wasn't telling him. 

Folding it up so the picture no longer showed, Rodney stuffed the newspaper under his arm. "Back in a second, professor." 

"Oh, yes, all right." John glanced back over his shoulder at Rodney, intent on the diagram he was making on the dry erase board. 

Not two feet from the dining room door, Radek snagged his arm. "You must come," he said, glancing over to the library doors. "He is going to kill himself." 

"Who is?" 

"Parrish. He is trying that thing that you showed us last night, and—" 

"Oh my God." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Just stall him. I'll be back in a moment, but don't let him...impale himself on his own shoes or anything." 

Rodney took the steps upstairs two at a time, grabbed his suitcase out from under the bed, threw the newspaper into it, closed it and shoved it under the bed again before he headed to the library stairs. He could hear the soft thud of feet and the faint sounds of Sam's CD player valiantly attempting a disco retrospective. 

When he opened the door and looked over the railing, Rodney thought he might bust a gut laughing. Parrish looked like Carmen Miranda, decked out in a prom dress and formal white gloves, obviously attempting to learn to dance. Someone—probably Radek—had helpfully drawn shoeprints on the floor, and Teyla was valiantly attempting to lead him around, while the rest of the group were alternately laughing and trying to help. Lorne looked utterly gobsmacked, as if he couldn't believe anyone could stoop to such insanity. But Parrish seemed to be all enthusiasm and little sense. 

"One-two-three," Teyla said, following the footsteps on the carpet, then thrusting her hip out with a "bump." She stepped back and nodded at Parrish. "Now you try it." 

Immediately, Parrish started, putting out his left foot, crossing over his right, which left him at an impossible angle for the 'bump.' 

"That doesn't look right," said Carson. 

"I think there were two bumps," Lorne said from where he leaned against one of the desks. "With a kind of shimmy." He tried to demonstrate, and Teyla stared at him. 

"There was no shimmy, Dr. Lorne. And there was only one bump." 

"No," Parrish said, straightening upright and adjusting the tiara in his hair. "It is impossible." 

"The steps do not seem to go to this music," Teyla said, tilting her head slightly. 

"That's because you have disco playing, and I was teaching you standard line dancing. You have anything else with you?" 

"Here." Sam held up a pack of CDs. "It's all I brought with me, and no one's bought any new." 

"Well, we'll have to fix that later," Rodney yelled out, swinging out onto the staircase and plucking the collection out of Sam's hands. "Maybe tonight, if this is all you have." He sorted though the set quickly. "No, no, no—maybe—no. Ah, put this on. And you," he said, turning to Parrish. "Don't be an idiot. It's step-together, step-together, bump—" 

With a grateful look his way, Teyla bowed out, and headed over to where Sam was trying to coax more volume out of the disc player. "This thing is nine years old," she muttered. "We lucky that the discs haven't changed format." 

"I am certain you can get it to work." 

Sam snorted. "Maybe. Hand me one of those wires, would ya?" 

A couple of clicks, and suddenly, there it was. This bass line reverberated through the room, and Rodney grinned. He pointed his finger like a gun and clicked his tongue. "Now we are talking! Come on boys and girls, let me show you how to dance." 

* * *

John said good-bye to the rest of the collaborators, a little puzzled on why Rodney had never returned. He could hear music coming faintly from the library, though, along with laughter and the Carson's occasional high-pitched squeal. Ronon was lounging around outside of the room, and glanced over at John. His look clearly said "You have no idea what you've gotten into." 

"What is it? What's going on?" 

"Fun." Ronon hitched a thumb at the library door. "Your McKay could make whole nations tumble, I bet." Ronon patted John's shoulder in passing. "I gotta check on dinner. Tell McKay I liked the music." 

The library door was open a crack, so Ronon could watch; John jerked it the rest of the way open, staring at the sight of the whole group lined up in two rows, following Rodney's lead. "You're teaching them the time warp?" 

"Among other things, yes," Rodney said, as they wound through the furniture. "This isn't the time warp, though. This is the cha-cha." He gave a wiggle, throwing his head back, and John felt himself blush. "Come on," Rodney said, grabbing John's wrist and tugging. "Sounds like I need to teach you a thing or two, along with the rest of 'em." 

"I'm not. I can't—" John was going to say he couldn't dance, but not thirty seconds after he'd opened the door, Rodney had him joining in on a conga line. 

For one brief instant, it was perfect—Rodney's hands on his waist, the two of them swaying to the music together, and John smiled, twisting around to catch Rodney's eye. 

God, Rodney was gorgeous, and with that thought, John knew he was in over his head. They all were. And Elizabeth had just been here a few days ago, telling them that the money was running out. He felt a knot form in his stomach. He knew he hadn't been working as hard as he should have, but it looked like everyone was in the same boat. He pulled himself away and walked to the CD player, turning it off. 

"Hey!" Rodney said, stalking over. 

John stood in front of him, blocking access to the CD player, and crossed his arms determinedly. He had to get this over with quickly, like pulling off a band-aid. "Would you mind leaving the room, McKay?" 

"We were just having a little fun. You have something against that?" Rodney said, hurt creeping into his voice, his eyes betraying his confusion; his eyes hardened at whatever look was on John's face. "Oh." 

John cleared his throat, glancing down at the carpet and then back to Rodney again. "The group and I need to have a private conference. So would mind leaving, please?" 

"Fine." Rodney rolled his eyes, and sauntered across the room. "Get whatever it is out of your system. I'll be in the kitchen." 

"Now, if everyone can show me what they have written in the past three days—" 

* * *

As Rodney headed toward the kitchen, he heard someone knocking on the terrace door. Ronon wasn't around, and Rodney headed cautiously toward the door, catching sight of Kavanagh's distinctive outline through the door's window. 

"It's about time," Rodney said, darting through the door and closing it quietly behind him. "I thought you'd forgotten where you'd parked me." Furious, voice low and quiet, Rodney jerked his head at the door. "You left me on the doorstep, just like a baby in a basket. It was going to only be for one night," Rodney said, sticking his index finger in the air. 

"Now sugar—" Kavanagh said, and Rodney stiffened. 

"You don't get to pull that 'sugar' stuff. I only let Cowen do that, and he isn't here. So you wanna tell me what's going on?" 

"Fact is," Kolya said, "you're hot and it's getting hotter. Police are working to get this whole town sealed up, have the feds out here and everything." He glanced at Kavanagh. "There's even a grand jury getting involved, talking about political corruption. 

"That's insane." 

"Yeah, but it's an election year, so they want to look like they're trying to clean house." Kolya smiled, and Rodney swallowed hard. "And you, McKay, are the key to their whole plan. Without you, they ain't got nothin'." 

"Wait here. I'll grab my things and be out in two seconds flat." 

"Just a sec. We got a surprise for you," Kavanagh said and smiled. 

"You aren't leaving, not yet." Kolya grabbed Rodney's arm. 

"I'm not?" Rodney could feel his heart racing. "Cowen's out, isn't he? And, uh, he still wants me to stay with him, right?" 

"Right now, he wants you to stay here." 

"Okay, see, that's not going to work—" 

"Give him the treat." Kolya lounged against the wall of the house, but his eyes never left Rodney's face, and Rodney could feel himself starting to sweat. 

"What treat?" 

"Put on your sunglasses, McKay," Kavanagh said, bringing out a small jewelry box. "The boss wanted to make sure you knew you were special." He flipped open the lid, and Rodney felt his mouth drop open. That was the biggest diamond he'd ever seen. 

"It's worth 10K. Your daddy's taking care of you." 

Ignoring the comment, Rodney couldn't help taking the ring out of the box and putting it on. "Cowen didn't have to bribe me." 

"It's not a bribe," Kolya said. 

"It's an engagement ring." 

"An engagement ring?" Rodney glanced up at the two of them. 

"Sure." Kolya straightened upright. "You're from Canada, right?" 

"So? Cowen made sure it was legal for me to be here." 

"The boss figures the two of you get married, and it'll take forever to sort out whether you can testify against him or not." 

Shaking his head, Rodney stared at the ring. "It takes the DA to finally get him to ask me. But who cares? It's results that count, right? And this is gonna to kill my dad when he finds out." 

"This goes with it." Kavanagh held out a large black backpack for Rodney to take. "Cowen says you should stay in the ice chest, and wanted to give you a little more dressing." 

"Not yet." Kolya stuck his hand in front of the backpack. "We need your signature first, on the application for a marriage license." 

"Doesn't that have to be notarized or something?" Rodney asked, signing when Kolya pointed. 

"We'll take care of it." Kolya nodded to Kavanagh, who handed the pack to Rodney. 

The pack was pretty hefty. Had to be another change of clothing or something in there. "I can't believe that all this is because of a pair of pajamas." 

Kavanagh snorted. "The best investment you'll ever make." 

"Keep your head down and don't cause trouble," Kolya said. "I know you're probably busting to get outta there, but it's got to be this way until the boss gets everything settled. So keep your Bluetooth hot, so we can call." 

"The cell doesn't work here, so you'll have to use the landline." Rodney shouldered the bag. "I—" He glanced through the door, and saw that the Professors were finally leaving the library. "The guys go to bed early, so have Cowen ring me around ten. I'll be the only one up." He slipped into the door and slid the backpack behind the entry table, hoping no one would notice. "Hey, what's up?" 

Whatever it was couldn't be good. None of the others would look at him. "Professor Sheppard wants a word with you, in the library," Lorne finally coughed out. 

Rodney patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about me. I'm sure Shep and I can work something out." He snapped his fingers and pointed. "I'm on top of it." 

* * *

As he stepped into the library, John called out, "Close the door, please." 

"Sure," Rodney said, strolling into the room as the door swung shut behind him. 

John felt distinctly uncomfortable, tugging at his shirt collar and smoothing his bow tie. "Take this chair, will you Dr. McKay?" 

Rodney glanced around. The closest one was the big, overstuffed chair he'd sat in the first night; the one that tended to eat visitors. "Okay." Rodney shrugged and relaxed into the chair. "What's this about?" 

John rubbed the back of his neck. Damn but he hated this. He didn't even know where to being. "How are you feeling, Dr. McKay?" 

"Pretty good, other than a slight twinge in my back." Rodney rubbed at the sore spot. "I could use a good massage." 

Clearing his throat, John glanced down and away from Rodney, speaking to the carpet to put the image of Rodney's naked back out of his mind. "And your throat, how is that feeling? Any soreness at all?" 

"No, nothing." Rodney shook his head, watching as John paced the length of the room. "I feel better than I have in days. Must be all the good food and rest around here." Rodney obviously knew something was up. He shifted in his chair, lacing and unlacing his fingers, clenching his hands. He looked in utter agony, but John still couldn't bring himself to do what he needed to do. 

Looking out the window, John sighed. The weather was particularly gorgeous today. He really had no excuse for putting this off. Turning around, John left his perch by the window to stand by Rodney's chair, resting his hand along the back even though his fingers itched to stroke Rodney's neck. "I just checked and the sky's clear today. If you're feeling as good as you say you are, then...I think it's time for you to leave." 

"Why?" Rodney blinked up at him. 

Okay, John hadn't been expecting that. He put his hands behind his back. "Your participation in the project has been most helpful—" 

"Yeah, it's been a ton of fun." 

"Rod—Dr. McKay, that's exactly the point. The foundation that is paying us for our encyclopedia expects us to work on it." John rubbed his hand across his forehead, and paced across the room. "And for the past four days—the four days that you have been here—we've, well, we've lost our way. The compass no longer points north, it points...well, at your...wherever you want it to point." 

Rodney rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Look, if it's bothering you so much, I'll stay out of the way. I'll sit in my room and read, or hang out with Ronon in the kitchen." 

"It's too late for that. You've got to leave, Rodney. I—" John cleared his throat. This really was going as badly as John had expected "You have to go." 

"You don't mean that." Rodney jumped out of the chair, his hands whirling in the air. "What about your work, your slang research?" He strode over to the dictionary and tapped its cover. "You know that the rest of them can't break it down for you like I can." 

"That's true." John shook his head, walking over to Rodney. He'd already rehearsed the answer for this one in his mind. "I will just have to work twice as hard with the others." 

"Ah, but you'll miss my keen mind," Rodney said, and smiled. It trembled a little around the edges. 

"You're right, Rodney. I will." John turned his head away. "Unfortunately, it seems to be connected to an extremely...disconcerting personality, and a very attractive...body." 

"Really? Huh." Rodney blinked. "I think that's the longest speech I have ever heard you make." He waved John off. "All right, you win. I'll leave sometime tomorrow." 

"No tomorrow, right away. I don't know what it's like for the others, but I can't hear myself even think around you." 

"Any special reason?" Rodney's smile firmed under John's gaze, becoming more knowing, practically smug. 

The look freed John's mind from its current focus on Rodney's lips, and mentally, John grabbed for the first things he could think of. "For example, when you brought me a cup of coffee yesterday morning, I couldn't help but notice how the cut of your shirt sleeve emphasized your biceps when you set the cup down. And later, when you were at the white board, I couldn't help but notice the way that your jeans accentuated the curve of your...bottom. And then you looked over your shoulder at me, and the way the light hit your eyes—" He swallowed hard. "It was very disconcerting." 

"So...you like my ass?" Rodney's smug smile turned amused and self-satisfied, and his eyes sparkled with amusement. "I've been told it's one of my best features." 

"Yes, well.... If I'm staring at your ass, I'm not getting any work...oh, no. None of that. Don't." John's voice became very strained as Rodney turned around deliberately, walking over to the bookcase on the far wall, and propped his foot up on the lowest shelf and looked over his shoulder at John. 

"Why do you think I came here in the first place?" Rodney said, posing carefully in the sunlight. 

Really, when Rodney stood like that, John could barely think. "To help with the research, of course." John tugged at the collar of his shirt. It was suddenly very warm in here. Very, very warm. 

"You are an idiot, aren't you?" Rodney shook his head, and left the window, stalking forward to run his hand over John's arm; John couldn't look away. "It wasn't so much the research as the researcher that I was interested in, if you catch my drift." 

"McKay!" 

Rodney grinned, obviously enjoying how…discomfited he made John feel. "I thought you were...." his eyes tracked down John's body, and back up to capture his gaze, "fit. And pretty." He ran a finger down John's jawline, and John reflexively jerked away, his pants growing excessively, uh, tight. 

"Pretty?" John glared at him. 

"Uh-huh," Rodney said, pushing forward again, his lips almost brushing John's. "A regular yum-yum type." 

"Yum-yum?" John said, wrapping his arms around Rodney's waist. 

"Don't you know what that means?" Rodney was practically laughing at him, and John had never felt like such a clumsy, awkward fool. 

But he didn't want to leave, and anyway, he wasn't sure he could. Rodney was like one of those old serpent-charmers, and John was mesmerized by his movements, how he spoke, how he looked. Feeling dazed, John shook his head, trying to clear it while his body demanded that he press in close. "No, uh, No. We...we never got to that." 

"Here, let me demonstrate then." Rodney slid his hand up and around John's arms. "Here's yum." Rodney gave John a quick peck on his lips. "And here some more yum." John was relaxing now, his lips softening under Rodney's. "And here's some yum-yum." 

As they kissed, John felt himself relaxing against Rodney, as a tingle built up in his hands, feet and spine. He felt Rodney's hands press into his ass and moaned softly, sliding his arms around to stroke Rodney's back as well. He licked and nipped at Rodney's lips, mouthing his ear and neck, loving the taste and feel of Rodney's skin. 

Warning bells went off in his mind. He couldn't, shouldn't do this. Not now. Quickly, he pulled away and straightened himself out, his face flushed, hands trembling. He ran up the stairs two at a time, and hit the door of the bathroom; flicking on the cold water, he splashed it over his face and the back of his neck until he finally felt like he had cooled down enough to keep himself back under control. 

Rodney was sitting in the overstuffed chair once again. "What did you mean, running out on me like that," he huffed, glaring at John. "And why is your hair wet?" 

"These past few minutes have merely...confirmed my hypothesis, that your presence in this house ensures that no one will get any work done. I've asked Ronon to call you a taxi, and you must get me out of your mind, just as I must get you out of mine." John put his hands on his hips and smiled shyly. "I would still like to keep in touch, though. When the encyclopedia is done in three years or so, I would love to see you again" 

"Sheppard, I—" Rodney rolled his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face. "Teyla and Sam aren't celibate, you know. So why should you be?" 

"It's not that, it's just—" John scrunched up his face. "When this project was started, as our room and board is a part of our compensation package, we all agreed that we would not have...long term guests in the house. Ronon is the only one who wouldn't agree to the terms, and he lives off-site. And this book is my obsession, my brain child. I have to finish it. I need to be obsessed with my work and not with—" he waved a hand at Rodney's body, "well, you." 

"Obsessed?" Rodney perked up. "I prefer the term focused, myself." 

"Me, too, actually." John's voice was rough and raspy, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from Rodney...and Rodney seemed unable to tear his gaze from John. The realization was a heady thought, and it made John feel invulnerable. He stepped forward, ignoring the little tiny voice inside him that tried to remind him that this was a bad idea; Rodney stood and slid his arms around John's neck, leaning his forehead against John's. This felt right, more right than anything he'd done in the last ten years, since before he'd taken this job. 

He curved his hand around the back of Rodney's neck and sighed, his breath mingling with Rodney's in the small space between them. "Before you go, maybe...just one more kiss?" 

This time, Rodney's smile was wicked. 

* * *

Waking up next to Rodney felt amazing. John ran his chin lightly over Rodney's bare shoulder, smiling at the grumbled 'mmmerm' as Rodney buried himself under the pillow. "Are you hungry?" 

"'m always hungry." 

"I'm going to sneak down and get us something," John said softly, pulling on his pants. "Ronon's gone, right?" He glanced at the clock: nearly ten. Yeah, Ronon would be long gone by now. "Back in a bit." 

John couldn't help whistling as he made his way into the kitchen. He flicked on the light, and gave a small startled cry at discovering Parrish and Lorne present, yesterday's bread out and on the cutting board before them. "Do you guys do this every night?" he asked, padding into the room, the tile flooring cool under his bare feet. 

Lorne gave a wry half-smile and nodded. "Pretty much, yeah." His hair was sticking up at all angles, and his flannel robe hung open, leaving his chest exposed, and there was a dollop of blackberry jam on the side of his mouth. 

Parrish still had one of his fingers stuck in his mouth. He hurriedly licked it off, then wiped his hands with a napkin. "Well, I couldn't eat all the jam myself, could I?" 

"Actually, I think you could." John dug around in the cupboards, moving aside the flour and sea salt, and reaching around behind the vanilla to pull out a spice grinder. He lifted the lid on it and took a sniff, nodding to himself. Yeah, this was the right one. 

"Hey," said Lorne, staring at the dark powder encrusted on the lid. "That looks like coffee." 

"That's because it is coffee." John puttered over to the refrigerator, and sorted through the boxes of soy delicious until he found the peanut butter and chocolate one. "Ronon keeps some coffee on hand in case he needs it for something." He pulled off the lid and brought out the small bag of roasted beans. "But you have to grind it yourself." 

"I don't care. I think that's the prettiest thing I have seen in months. Ow." Lorne rubbed his arm where Parrish had hit him. "I was talking about the coffee!" 

"Don't let Ronon know I told you." John pulled the tiny one-cup sized French press out from behind the mixing bowls and set it one the counter. "Would you mind turning the kettle on?" 

Parrish stretched over and checked the water level, then flipped the switch on the kettle to 'on.' "I take it you had a pleasant evening?" 

"Hmm, yes." John couldn't help smiling. 

"I take it McKay will be with us for awhile." 

"No, I—" John dumped beans in the grinder and pressed the switch, pulsing the blades until the beans were coarsely ground and shiny with oil. "You know he can't." 

"You could hire him," Parrish suggested. 

"As what?" John sighed heavily and poured the ground coffee into the press. "He told me he never went to college, that 'doctor' was a part of his act. And you know that Elizabeth was just after us about budget—" Frustration made him growl as he spoke, and John made himself take a deep breath and look around, rather than sinking any further into no-win scenarios. "Hey, mind if I make some toast." 

"Knock yourself out," Lorne said, swinging a ladder-backed kitchen chair around so he could sit on it backwards, straddling it, arms crossed over the back. "Even if money weren't an issue, you know there would be a problem with that whole boss/employee thing." 

"It really is too bad you can't marry him," Parrish sighed. "That would solve the whole thing. 

John glanced up sharply at Parrish. "You are a genius," he said, waving the butter knife in Parrish's face. "An incredible genius." 

"Parrish?" Lorne said skeptically, "Come on, Shep, you know—" 

"Ah-ha!" John waved the knife at the two of them, then placed the toasted bread on a plate as it popped. "I know it's a little...corny to rush into things like this, but Rodney is just—" 

"I don't want to know," Lorne sighed. "All right, okay, so let's say you are going to be this stupid and ask him to marry you. Then what happens?" 

John put the plate of toast on a wooden tray, and covered it with a lid. "Nothing, really. Rodney stays here, and if anyone asks Elizabeth what is going on, we tell her about the wedding plans." He added the coffee, creamer, and sugar to the tray and stared at it a moment, trying to think if he had everything. "Any more jam?" 

"You're crazy. You've never done anything like this in your life—" Lorne scraped the last of the jam onto his bread and defiantly popped it into his mouth. "And no, there's no more jam." 

"I say it's very romantic," Parrish interjected. "Here." Parrish plucked a flower from the kitchen vase, and putting it on the tray. "Now you can go. And you," he glared at Lorne, "could learn to be a little more spontaneous in your life." 

"Aw, David...." 

Parrish huffed and swept out of the room, Lorne two steps behind him. 

Carrying the tray up the stairs was difficult; John was afraid he would spill everything before arrived. But he managed, balancing the tray in one hand so he could open and close the door. 

It was worth it, though. Rodney was sitting up in bed, the covers pooled around his waist, revealing his bare chest. John felt a deep, visceral shiver run through him at the sight. What they had just done—He had to shake himself, and set the tray on the bed. 

"Oh, coffee," Rodney said with a sigh. "How'd you manage that?" 

"Ronon keeps some for guests. I had to use the French press to make it." John poured him a cup, then reached for the milk pitcher. 

"Just java," Rodney said, pulling the cup to him and taking a drink before John could do anything else. "It's perfect. Thanks." 

"I made toast, too." John put his hand on the dish to life the cover, but Rodney wrinkled his nose. 

"I don't really like toast. Unless you have jam. Do you have any strawberry jam?" 

"I'm afraid we're out." 

"Never mind. I'll stick with the coffee and can dig a bar out of my bag later." 

"A bar?" 

"You know, energy bars? Packed with nutrition and protein. I practically live on the stuff." He must have seen something in John's face, though, as he followed it up with, "But maybe I could...eat toast." His smile was half-hearted. "I don't suppose you have honey, do you?" 

John tapped the ceramic honey-pot. "Would you like me to put it on the toast?" 

"Sure, knock yourself out," Rodney said with an airy wave. "God, I can't get over you. You're all—what's this?" 

John had taken the cover off, and the small jewelry box could clearly be seen. Rodney gingerly pricked it up, as if it was a bomb that might go off any second. 

"Open it," John said eagerly, sitting down on the bed next to Rodney. "It was my grandfather's ring." He shrugged. "My grandmother gave it to me when she found out I was gay. Said she hoped it would bring me as much luck with men as it had brought her." 

"Did it?" 

"You're the first man I've ever given it to. If it doesn't fit, we can call a jeweler and get it resized." John toyed with the covered on the bed, straightening them out. "If you say you'll marry me, then you wouldn't be a guest. You could stay while we figured out the arrangements." 

Staring at it, Rodney pushed the ring down onto his finger. "I don't know what to say." 

"Say yes." John slid his hand over Rodney's. "Once one has admitted how one feels, it's the only logical step to take." He leaned back and threw and arm over his chair. "People like me, married to their work and their books...well, it's like dust piles up around their hearts, and it takes a strong breeze to blow it away." 

"Hurricane McKay, that's me." His face was an odd combination of things, and John couldn't tease out what the look meant. "I just never wanted to destroy anything about you." 

Someone pounded on the door right then, and Carson's voice could be heard from the landing. "Rodney! Rodney! There's a phone call for you." 

"A phone call? What time—? Crap." Pulling on his borrowed pajamas, Rodney wrapped his robe around him and dashed past Carson, and barreled down the stairs to the nearest extension. 

"Who is it?" John asked. 

"He said he was Rodney's father," Zelenka replied. 

"McKay senior, huh?" John shook his head. "That's peculiar. Rodney said his father threw him out of the house when he was younger." 

"Maybe they have reconciled?" Teyla said. "Family is very important in many cultures." 

"How did it go, Sheppard?" Lorne asked quietly. "With the, you know, the ring thing." 

"He seemed...a little startled. Overwhelmed." 

"Well, that's to be expected," Carson said. "I know I would be, swept off my feet by a handsome young lad." 

  * Lorne really was the team's worst gossip. He must have told everyone about the ring. " Carson, you are two years younger than I am. Stop being an old biddy." 



"Before I married," Radek said, "I had to discuss the matter with her parents." 

"I can't imagine asking anyone other than Rodney for their permission." John scratched at his chest, and Parrish blushed. 

"Not permission, perhaps, but maybe offer them a chance meet you," Radek said. 

"Perhaps take a trip with Rodney to Canada." Parrish looked over at Lorne, who nodded and added, "You could get married there." 

"Yeah, Sheppard. And you could honeymoon someplace other than a library." Sam grinned at him, and leaned against Teyla. "Maybe they have a cabin up in the mountains someplace that they'd lend you." 

"Not all Canadians have mountain cabins, you know," John said. 

"But you like to ski, yes?" Radek said. "I would love to ski again. My late wife and I went skiing for our honeymoon twenty years ago." 

"You're all daft," Carson said. "I prefer golfing myself." 

John edged around them and headed down the stairs, he could hear the strain in Rodney's voice as soon as he stepped on the landing. "I can't—Listen, I'm not—Fine." He took a deep breath. "Any other news, Dad? How are the crops doing?" He waved at John, and held the phone close to his chest. "I won't be long. Just wait in the library." 

"Is everything all right?" John asked. "I know you said things were difficult between you." 

"Oh, yeah. Sure, sure. Everything's fine. Dad's excited to have a star in the family." Rodney made shooing motions to the crowd gathered around him. "I'll just be a minute." 

"Do you mind if I have a few words with him?" 

"What? Are you—I mean, why?" Listening to the phone, Rodney visibly swallowed, and rolled his eyes. "Sure. Sounds great. Dad would love to talk to you, too." 

Pale and trembling, Rodney handed the phone over to John. Really, John thought, he'd gotten here just in time. They had obviously been well on their way to another blow-up. "Mr. McKay? I'm Dr. John Sheppard, and I trust that Rodney has already told you about my, ah, interest in him." 

"Yeah, he has. Are you crazy, taking an interest in a loose cannon like him?" 

"No, no. I'm not crazy, sir. He's just one of the most intriguing people that I've ever met." He braved a smile at Rodney, who paled and looked away, his arms wrapped tight around his chest. 

"Lived a sheltered life, have you?" Mr. McKay said. 

"I am a researcher, if that's what you mean. I was a member of the faculty at the University of Washington for several years, before I accepted my current position. I would love to have the opportunity to come visit you with Rodney, if that was acceptable." 

"I was thinking along those lines myself. We never planned on having a professor in the family, but if that's what Rodney wants.... We've spent too many years apart as it is." 

"Oh, I understand, sir." 

"So would you have any objection to bringing Rodney up to Vancouver tomorrow, so we could all meet?" 

"I was going to suggest that very thing myself," John said, smiling and playing with the phone cord. "I would love to meet you all." 

"Wonderful! Now listen, Rodney's mother can't travel, and it would break her heart not to see Rodney married, to see her little boy settle down." 

"If my mother were still alive, I'm sure she would feel the same way." 

"In that case, you wouldn't object to having the ceremony here, would you? So we could do it up nice and proper? 

"Why, no, Mr. McKay. That's an excellent thought." 

"Fine, then. Would you mind putting Rodney on?" 

John grinned and gave Rodney the thumbs-up signal, before handing him the phone. "It's better than I hoped for," he said, and turned to the rest of the team who had been shamelessly eavesdropping. "They want us to come see them tomorrow, and have the wedding there." 

"Umm-hmm. Maybe there's some other way." Rodney shook his head. "I really don't want to take anyone for that kind of a ride." 

"Oh, that's okay." John said, stepping forward and putting his hand on Rodney's shoulder. "I'll take a couple of days off." 

"We all will!" said Parrish. 

"Oh, yes!" said Carson. "I haven't been to a wedding for years." 

"I can call around and rent us a van or something," Sam added. 

"It is an excellent idea." Teyla agreed. 

While they were all talking excitedly to one another, Rodney hung up the phone. His mouth was a tight line, and John noticed that his hands were gripped into fists before he tucked them under his arms. John could see the tirade building, and stepped in close, laying his hand on Rodney's arm. 

"What's the matter?" 

"Oh, the...." John saw his eyes flicker and dart away as Rodney extracted himself fro John's touch. "He's always so controlling. Everything has to be his way." 

"In this instance, it's my good fortune." John smiled, trying to catch Rodney's eye, though he left his arms at his side. He could see how upset Rodney was by the conversation, and given that John himself hated to be touched when he was angry, it only made sense for Rodney to withdraw as well. And if this was how Rodney reacted just from a phone call with his father...well, it was no wonder that Rodney decided on leaving the country. "It's going to be okay, Rodney. You'll see. The sooner we get married, the better, right?" 

"I guess." 

Something jiggled the front door, and then Ronon stepped inside. He looked around at the assembled group and lifted an eyebrow. "You can't all be after the jam." 

* * *

Ronon made tea while the rest of the group settled down in the library to plan the wedding. Books on marriage customs were investigated, but everyone agreed that nothing was really suitable, and Teyla insisted on writing the ceremony herself. Parrish wanted to be a bridesmaid, but Carson pointed out that no one was really a bride in this instance, which led to Lorne wondering about where they might be able to get tuxes or if their regular suits would work. 

As one, everyone stopped and looked around at each other: John had no suit. Tension thrummed loud and hot as a powerline, until Sam shouted out, "The Internet!" Immediately, she bolted from the room, Lorne, Teyla, and Radek right behind her. 

Rodney noticed that Carson had apparently fallen asleep on the library settee. 

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Fuck. This was all so screwed. The longer he was here, the more he realized the compromises he'd made with Cowen and the way he'd turned a blind eye to things. Cowen probably was involved in a murder, and now he'd put everyone here at risk: if he didn't show up for the 'wedding,' then Cowen would come after him, killing anyone who tried to intervene. 

But Rodney had a practical streak to him, and figured if he followed through, everyone stayed alive. Oh, sure, it would break John's heart when he found out that Rodney had used him like this, but he'd get over it. A guy like that, smart and fun and charming—not to mention sexy as hell—he'd find a new distraction within a week. He didn't need Rodney around at all. 

The fact that it would also break Rodney's heart was really no more than he deserved. Before heading to bed, he stopped in the hallway to pick up the backpack that Kolya and Kavanagh had given him earlier, only it wasn't where he had left it. Puzzled, he mentally retraced his steps, but he couldn't remember taking it anywhere after he and John had kissed. He wandered into the library again, just to make sure he hadn't misplaced it. 

"Hey," he said, tapping on Carson's shoulder. "Have you seen my backpack?" 

Carson's eyes silted open. "Ronon took it upstairs, I think." 

"Thanks." Rodney grabbed the afghan from where it had slipped off Carson's shoulder, and tucked it in around his neck. "You're gonna hurt like hell in the morning. Don't blame me for the fact that you feel asleep in an odd position." 

"Yes, Rodney," Carson's said, burying his head in what looked like a scratchy, century- old pillow. 

Shaking his head, Rodney headed up the stairs. He was going to miss all of them. 

* * *

When Rodney opened the door to his room, Ronon was sitting on the bed, with Rodney's suitcase and backpack beside him, both of them open. The pack seemed to have contained power bars, a new silk shirt, and note which Ronon held in his hand. He arched an eyebrow the moment that Rodney entered. "Sugarpuss?" 

"Hey, that's private!" Rodney said, jerking the paper out of his hand. "It's nothing you need to know about anyway." 

"This is." Ronon tossed the newspaper in front of Rodney. "Not that good of a picture." 

God, he'd forgotten about that. "Well, you blow them up like that, and they get grainy." Rodney sank onto the bed, almost sort-of happy that he didn't have to hide any more, that it was all out of his hands. "I suppose I better get my things together and high-tail it down the back stairs." 

"You gonna marry Sheppard?" 

"No." 

"You gonna marry any of 'em?" 

A sick, half-broken laugh escaped Rodney's lips. "No. They all deserve better." 

"Okay." Ronon patted his thigh and stood, stretching. "Pack yourself, McKay. I gotta lay in supplies." 

"What—? You're not going to call the police on me?" 

"Rather not. I figure, break their hearts here or break them in Canada, doesn't really matter." Ronon shrugged. "When they get back, they'll be hungry, those of 'em that are eating." 

"I don't get this. Why are you letting me go?" 

"Do you want to leave?" 

Rodney didn't have the heart to lie. "No." It sounded a lot softer than he intended. 

"But you have to." 

Rodney nodded. 

"I thought so." Ronon stabbed a finger at Cowen's name in the article. "Before I took this job, I'd been on the run awhile. And this guy, he's bad, McKay. You go, he gets what he wants, and he leaves the professors alone. You stay, or I go to the cops, and...." 

"Yeah." Rodney's mouth twisted on him. "At least this way, everyone gets out alive." 

"Pretty much." Ronon tapped the paper. "You'll be okay?" 

"I'm getting Cowen," Rodney said, folding the paper up and laying it in the bottom of his trunk. "That should be more than enough for a guy like me, right?" 

Ronon just grunted, picked up one of the power bars, and shut the door behind him, leaving Rodney alone. 

* * *

It wasn't Carson's fault that the deer jumped out of the brush at them on their way to Vancouver and they ended up in a ditch near Surrey, having to walk into town and get a tow to the nearest garage. They found rooms at a run-down, cottage-style hotel, which may have once been a working farm at some point in the last century. They had dinner in a large, family-style dining room, and then John insisted that Rodney call his father. 

"You were nervous the whole drive," John said. "I was afraid you'd throw up when we got to the border. We'll just spend the night here and see your parents tomorrow. We can't get a new car until then anyway." 

"Yeah, yeah, I guess," Rodney said distractedly. "You just don't know how...disappointed he'll be." He went out to the reception area to use the phone, while John headed back to the dining table. 

Using several equations scrawled on the backs of paper napkins, Radek was explaining to the group how it wasn't Carson's fault that the deer hit him, while every else laughed. "I can prove it," Radek said carefully. "It's simple physics." 

"For that, you should have some more wine," Carson said, topping off Radek's glass and his own. "Anyone else?" 

"I'll have some." Lorne held out his glass. 

"And me," Parrish said, mirroring Lorne. 

"You might as well just top everyone off, Carson. I don't think anyone's abstaining." John gestured at Rodney's plate. 

Sam snorted and giggled simultaneously at that. "Abstinence. He's right, no one's abstaining around here." 

John ordered another bottle, and by the time Rodney got back, most of that one was gone. "I think I'll head to bed," he said. Big day tomorrow." He circled his hand in the air. "You know, wedding and that." 

"Good idea. We'll be leaving early. Seven thirty, all right." 

"Oh, I'll be awake all right." Rodney picked up his glass rolling his stem between his finger a moment, before looking at everyone and lifting his glass. "Here's to you, kids." 

"To all of us," Parrish said, standing. 

"Agreed," Carson added, standing up beside him, until the whole table was on their feet. 

"Sheppard," Rodney said, and seemed to freeze for a moment, before turning to look at the rest of the group. "You guys still have time to change his mind, you know. He doesn't have to marry me." 

"No one's changing my mind," John said, taking Rodney's hand in his own. "And I want to marry you." 

"You are such an idiot," Rodney said, a little breathlessly, laying his hand on John's chest. It felt good there, right, and John relaxed into the moment, letting all the warmth and affection he felt for Rodney bubble up from inside of him to where Rodney could see. He knew he looked a little goofy, but he didn't care. This was going to be worth it. 

For a moment, they breathed together, then Rodney shook his head and pulled his hands away. "At least they can give you a proper bachelor party, before you settle down." He drained his glass and set it down on the table. "Anyone remember which cabin is mine?" 

"Six, I think," said Carson. 

"No, that one is mine," said Parrish, elbowing Carson. "You're in number nine, Rodney, It's the sixth one on the left hand side." 

"Right." Rodney paused and patted John's chest. "I really—If I were ever trapped on a desert island, I'd want to take all of you with me." He cleared his throat. "Goodbye, kids." 

"Goodnight!" Teyla called out, as Rodney headed quickly for the door, the rest of the group adding their 'good nights' as well. He hesitated a moment on the doorstep, then reached up and swatted the nose of the moosehead hanging over the door. "For luck," he said, coloring brightly, and closed the door behind him. 

They talked for a while about the upcoming marriage, and what it was that made for a good relationship. Radek ended up banging on his water glass to get everyone's attention. "Please, you are all speaking on a subject that you know very little about. I am the only one here who has been married." 

"Hey!" Sam yelled. "While we haven't tied the knot, I wouldn't say we're chopped liver in the relationship department." 

"Perhaps there is another way to phrase that, Doctor." Teyla arched her eyebrow and gave Radek a level, icy stare. 

"I'm curious, though. How long were you married for?" Sam asked. 

"Five years. I came to America after." Radek cleared his throat and looked away. "She was an artist, gifted with finding the beauty in the most desolate landscapes. She died sketching an abandoned building when it collapsed." He sighed and took a sip of water. "I have spent many hours reliving our happiness, and Sheppard, if you should ever need it, I would be happy to give you advice." 

"Thank you, Radek, but that would be unnecessary. Rodney is an open book, his emotions are written in his expressions and his voice and his language." 

"That's just it, don't you see?" Parrish banged his hand on the table. "Rodney is a fragile creature, like...like...like an orchid almost in bloom, and you must nurture him." He tipped back the last of the wine and sighed. "He is like the _Anemone nemorosa_ , waiting for the warm sunshine and soft winds before it unfolds." He looked intently at John. "One rough, impetuous bee can destroy the bloom." 

Lorne took his wine glass away. "Come on, buddy. I think you've had enough. Get out of the garden for once." 

"Lorne—" John growled, while several others shushed him as well. 

"Okay, okay," Lorne said, twisting Parrish's glass in his hands. "Rodney's more like Rosemary, anyway, which is a pretty hardy plant." 

Parrish turned to stare at Lorne, his eyes wide. "You listen when I talk about plants?" 

"Sometimes." Lorne flushed scarlet and shifted down in his chair. 

Teyla, who tended to sing if she had more than a couple of glasses of wine, started in on the opening lines of "Scarborough Fair," taking Sam's hand in her own. 

"That's lovely," Parrish said, still looking at Lorne. "I think...I think I have to go now." Head down, he turned and headed for the back door, while Lorne turned and joined Teyla in song. 

Soon, most of the group had joined in, and the music had progressed to old camp-style songs. John listened for a bit, but what Parrish had said began to weigh on him. He needed to understand what it was that Parrish had been trying to get at. 

The others ignored him as they sang loudly and robustly, even if not in key, while John headed out for Parrish's bungalow. It was too dark out to see the numbers clearly, but he knew Parrish was in six, so he simply counted, using the first cabin as number one. 

He didn't bother knocking, trying the door and entering when he found it open and the lights out. "Parrish?" He heard the rustle of cloth and quickly added, "Please, don't turn on the light. I needed to ask you something that's rather...personal, and I'm not sure I could manage if I saw you." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm going to guess that what you were talking about was a little personal for you, too, and while I...understand what you were talking about in relationship to flowers, I can't help but think that it has to be different with people. We're more resilient and...." 

Shoving his hand in his hair, John paced to the other side of the room. "I'm a bit bolder than you are, Parrish, and, well, I've already sampled the flower so to speak, but that isn't going to hurt us, is it." He rubbed his hands together. "The fact is, I'm in love. I want take him in my arms and hold him, kiss him when the sun sets and when the sun rises again. I can't just go gently, not when I think about him every waking hour. I thought I could control this, that if I just approached it logically, I could manage my...interest. But I can't. I've lost it, Parrish. I can't think about my work or language or the article I am supposed to be writing. All I can think about is him." 

A shaft of moonlight struck the bed, and John could see Rodney there, staring at him. "Damn it, Sheppard," he growled, and launched himself off the bed into John's arms, kissing him. It wasn't the kisses they'd shared in the library, which had been fun and playful and teasing; this one was needy and wanton, and just a little bit desperate. 

Hell, a lot desperate, and John was just as desperate back. His fears over what Parrish had said where completely tossed away, as Rodney pressed in close to John, shoving him back against the door, hands scrabbling to rip at John's tie, loosening it. 

With his head pressed against the wood, the faint rumbling beyond the doorway formed into words; Carson was calling, "Sheppard? Professor Sheppard?" Carson had to be checking bungalow by bungalow looking for John. 

"I have to go," John said, pulling away from Rodney. " Carson's calling for me." 

"Are you sure?" Rodney pressed himself had against John's thigh. "I can think of a lot more interesting things to do than talk with Carson." 

"Yeah, so can I." The smile in John's voice was clear as he gave Rodney one last kiss. "I'll come back and we can try a few of them, if you'd like." 

"If I'd—Oh, oh God, John." He shuddered, a little noise of need and want escaping his lips. "What you do to me," he said softly. John thought he heard the shower start as he closed the front door behind him. 

" Carson! Over here," he yelled, spying a dark figure two cottages away. "What is it?" 

"Oh, there you are." Carson's face was pale and sweaty. "You need to come back to the dining room right away. Something's come up and we—" He wiped his hand across his forehead. "I think they better tell you." 

"Who tell me what?" 

"Four gentlemen arrived, looking for—" He swallowed hard. "They can explain. Please." He walked quickly back to the main dining area, and John followed him; the moment they stepped into the bright lights, John blinked at the haze of smoke, finally making out a squat man leaning against the dining room table. His suit was designer, his brown shirt made of silk, and his shoes were from Italy; it looked like he'd spent a lot of money trying to look sophisticated, but it did nothing to hide the aura of menace that surrounded him. 

Beckett scrambled around him to sit with the rest of the professors at the table behind the stranger, all of their hands resting clearly on the table top. Lorne and Sam wore matching glowers, while Parrish and Radek looked as white as Carson did, now that John saw him in the light. Teyla was apparently assessing the situation, her eyes gauging the men ranged around table. 

John pressed his lips together tight. He didn't like the look of the fellow in front of him, a smug, condescending look sketched on what could be seen of his face. 

"Well, well, well," the man said, tipping his hat back so he could look directly at John. "So you're Sheppard. I'd expected you to be older, more the aging hippy type, with a beard and stains on your shirt." He made an audible 'tsk' sound. "I'll have to tell Rodney his description was lacking." 

"Who are you?" John growled, his hands bunching into fists at his side. 

"Rodney hasn't told you about me? Well, that's mighty smart of him. He always was a bright boy." The man tilted his head slightly. "We never planned on having a professor in the family," he said, his smile cruel, and John's stomach tightened into a knot; he wanted to pound that mocking smile right off of his face and wished he'd followed his own father into the military so he'd be able to do just that. 

"You're not his father," John said coldly. 

"No, I'm the one who keeps him. Everything Rodney has, I paid for, from the clothes on his back to the theater his band played in." He slowly stood and walked over to John. "And I don't like poachers." 

He slammed his fist into John's stomach, and oh, god, that _hurt_ . Doubling over, John's eyes started watering as the deep ache spread through him. He could hear the shouts of the others, and the men at the walls telling them to 'knock it off' and 'quiet down.' 

"Get him a chair," the man snarled, and the tall henchman with the ponytail shoved something hard against the back of John's knees, forcing him to sit. "That's better. And here I'd been counting on Rodney to tell you the score. He always has his own best interests at heart." The man brushed off the arms of his suit. 

"The wedding's a lie," Sam growled out. "The whole thing was faked to get McKay here." 

"Oh, there's going to be a wedding all right, and Rodney will be getting married." The man's mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. "Only I'm the one he'll be wedded to." He reached around and pulled out his wallet, throwing a Canadian fifty on the table. "I do appreciate the way you work. Rodney would never have gotten across the border without you." 

"We were duped," Radek said. 

"Yeah," said Lorne. "McKay had no interest in us at all." 

"You're wrong," John said, catching his breath. "Rodney—" 

"You really thought Rodney was going to marry you, with your Professor's salary and miserly room and board? He spends that much just keeping his piano in tune. He's selfish and egotistical, and a petty little tyrant about the tiniest things, like the type of wood used to stretch his shoes before he wears them." He walked around behind John, and placed his hand on each side of the ladder back, so he could lean over and speak softly in John's ear, making John wince. "Rodney's a demon in bed, though, so it's worth it to put up with the way he pouts and sulks and whines if the seams on his shirt are frayed and catch on his skin." He must have seen something in John's expression, as he pulled away then. "You don't believe it, do you?" He gestured for John to stand. "All right, then, go tell Rodney that Cowen is here, and watch him come running." Cowen's face tightened into a threatening mask. "The rest of 'em will stay here while you do. Kolya! Kavanagh! Make sure none of 'em move." 

Casting a glance at his friends, John left, hoping—praying—that he was right. 

* * *

Watching out of his bungalow window as John entered the dining room, Rodney got a glimpse of someone whose height and distinct profile made him hard to mistake: Kavanagh. His heart plummeted, and he had to grip onto the footboard of the bed to keep himself steady. 

This was it. He was completely and utterly fucked. Knowing that John loved him, and that this wasn't just a good time for either of them, Rodney knew he couldn't marry Cowen. Chills shook him, and for a moment, Rodney thought he might be violently ill. Pressing a hand to his stomach, he eased himself onto the bed, his mind a whirl of thoughts. He knew he should run, now, while he had the chance, but this place was so isolated he wasn't going to be able to get far without Cowen tracking him down. 

And in the meantime, Cowen would get angry, and Rodney really didn't want to take the chance that he might take his anger out on Lorne, or Radek, or Carson, or Teyla, or...John. 

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together as hard as he could, afraid if he opened his mouth, some strange low keening might come forth, like an animal in pain. He wasn't sure his pride could take that sort of blow. Cowen and the men before him could buy anything, but it was all stuff—clothing, jewelry, dinners out. They never bought—him. 

No, _that_ he gave away for free to the first man that valued him for what he thought. 

John didn't bother to knock. "There's a Mr. Cowen waiting for you in the dining room." 

"Yeah," Rodney said softly, not really looking at John. Because if he looked, he might say something that both of them would regret. 

When Rodney wouldn't meet his eyes, John straightened. "Don't worry about us. We won't tell the police where you are, or notify the Mounties or whatever you do here in Canada. You can just...slip away, in the middle of the night. Same as you arrived." 

"Shep—" 

"Don't say anything." Even in the dark, Rodney could see the tension humming through John's body. "I should be thanking you for the lesson you taught us, on why we shouldn't accept anyone at face value." John shook his head. "And you charged so little, too." 

Tired and hurting, Rodney lashed out. "You're not the only one who paid." 

"For pushovers like us? A day or two, and I'm sure you won't even remember the cost. Cowen will buy you a new shirt or take you to Rio or something, and you'll forget all about the silly, foolish—stupid—professors that you left behind." 

Twisting his hands together, Rodney could feel the ring—John's ring—heavy on his hands. He ripped it off and shoved it at John. "Here, you'll want this." 

"Why?" John shoved his hands deep into his pocket. "My grandmother was wrong. It didn't bring me good luck after all." 

Rodney pushed past him and out the door, without bothering to pack. The sooner they were on the road, the better. It wasn't like he would miss anything that he was leaving behind. 

* * *

The dining room was quiet the following morning, no one so much as looking at anyone else. A cold breakfast had been set out—pastries, cereal, yogurt, fruit and coffee—but little had been touched. John looked the buffet over and sighed wearily, setting coffee, a small bunch of grapes and a toasted bagel on a tray. 

"White bread just doesn't taste right," Carson said, dropping his toast back on the plate. "How's the porridge?" He glanced across the table at Radek, who was watching a glob drip off of his spoon into his bowl. 

"Perhaps you would like it." Radek shoved the bowl in front of Carson as John joined them both. 

"Listen." John cleared his throat, and gestured for the others to gather around him. "I wish to apologize for everything that has happened this past week. I made an ass of myself, and we all know it." 

"John—" Teyla started to speak, but John held up his hand, stilling her. 

"Don't be kind. What happened...can't be undone. It was my fault he arrived, my fault he stayed. And I am sorry for what he did to you." John shoved his plate aside. "I am also sorry for what I must do to you now. Because of my...indiscretion, we are a week behind in our work. We will need to work an extra two hours a day for the next month to get back on schedule." 

"It's all right." Carson patted John's hand. "It could have been any of us." 

"Thank you. So let us all return to our home and our work, and let his name never be uttered again." 

"Oh!" Parrish scurried forward and took a crumbled handkerchief from his pocket. "As long as we are burying his memory, here." He untied the corner. "Rodney said to give this back to you, when you were more calm." He cleared his throat. "I found him standing on the back porch, just staring off into the night, and was quite concerned about him. I was afraid he might be...chilled." He lifted a ring out of the napkin, and held it up into the light. 

"What is that?" John stared at the huge diamond on the ring. "He's bribing us?" 

"No, no. He said it was your ring, and that you should have it back." 

"No one in my family would be caught dead with a ring like that." 

Radek picked up the right and held it into the light. "So it's not yours?" 

"No." John shoved himself away from the table and walked over to the window, turning his back on the whole thing. 

"Fascinating," Radek said carefully. "Yet this is the ring he wanted to return." 

"Is that significant?" Lorne asked. 

"No," John said, turning to look at the group. "Not at all." 

"Teyla, you wrote the section on psychology." Carson nodded toward her. "What do you think?" 

She thought for a moment, her eyes darting among the group, then over to John. "There are many interpretations that could be given to this, among them that this ring is symbolic of the relationship Rodney wishes to give away." 

"He kept Sheppard's ring, and gave back the other guy's." Lorne whistled. 

"Ergo, Rodney was not as unaffected by the relationship as he attempted to imply." Radek pressed the ring into John's hand and folded his fingers over it. 

"He loves you," said Sam. 

"Oh, I do hope so," said Parrish, stepping closer to Lorne. 

"That's bullshit." John stepped forward and grabbed the ring. "I—" 

"Good morning," Elizabeth's voice cut through the bickering of the ragged group like a bell across water. Shocked, everyone turned to look at the dining room entrance, where she stood in jeans and burgundy T-shirt, Ronon behind her. "I hope I am not interrupting anything? I received an email that you had rented a car and gone to Canada, along with a copy of an accident report." 

"Oh, Dr. Weir. Here." John gestured at the large table while he tried to put aside his anger. He was supposed to be charming for Elizabeth. "Won't you join us?" 

"Coffee, please." Elizabeth sat in one of the open chairs. "Actually, this isn't a pleasant visit. I wasn't the only one included on the email." She rubbed her hand across her forehead. "I have rented a vehicle that can carry everyone back to the foundation, but at that point, I'm afraid you must start making other arrangements for employment. The project is being terminated." 

"What...?" 

"Oh, dear, you can't—" 

  * Everyone spoke at once, and it was hard to tell what exactly anyone said. John clicked his tongue imperiously, and they all fell silent. 



" Elizabeth," he said, stepping forward, "this is entirely due to misconduct on my behalf. Don't drag the others through this. I'll be happy to pack up and leave, but you should let the others stay." 

"I'm sorry, but the email was the last straw. I don't have anything that I can use to keep this project afloat. I—" 

"Well, well, well. Good thing we got up early, Kavanagh. Looks like we're just in time for breakfast." Kolya, the pocked-faced man from last night, shoved his way into the room, brandishing a gun. 

Kavanagh nodded, and snagged John's uneaten bagel from the plate. "Everyone line up against the far wall, like you were have your picture taken." 

"Only with you, Sheppard, in the foreground," Kolya added. 

Radek's face paled as he whispered something in Czech. 

* * *

Rodney sat in the huge, leather wingback, eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest. He could hear Cowen pacing, but it didn't matter. Rodney wasn't budging, not this time, and it didn't matter what gifts or presents he was offered. He might not ever be able to see John again, but he wasn't going to marry Cowen. 

"Is the bride ready yet?" the flea-bitten excuse for a minister asked for the fiftieth time this morning. 

"No, and I am never going to be," Rodney barked out, opening his eyes. "So take your dime store diploma and your wedding certificate and hit the road, will ya?" 

"Ignore him," Cowen said, lighting a cigarette. "He'll come around." 

"Let me know." The unctuous baboon got to his feet and trundled for the door. "It's time for lunch now." He nodded at Rodney. "I'll be back in a couple of hours; maybe the bride will have changed his mind by then." 

"I am not a bride!" Rodney yelled as the door slammed shut behind him. 

"How long are we going to argue this?" Rodney didn't know the guy, but he looked like one of Cowen's dull-witted mob. Slicked back hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, and slicker than Imperial Oil. 

"We're about done," Cowen ground out, sitting on the arm of the chair next to Rodney. "Look—" 

"No means no. Or didn't you get that in your high school heath class?" Rodney snapped his fingers and pointed at Cowen. "Oh, that's right. You never finished high school." 

Cowen nodded at oil guy. "Get the professor on the phone." 

Rodney bolted upright. "You leave him out of this." 

"You love him, don't ya?" Cowen said, exhaling and watching the smoke drift up into the air. 

"So what if I do? I'm not going to see him again, if that's what you want." 

"Oh, no. I want a lot more than that." Oil guy handed a cell phone to Cowen. "Imagine that big dork of yours tied to a chair with a car battery hooked to some of his private possessions just when it happens to rain. You wouldn't want to see that happen to him, no would you, McKay?" 

"That's not funny." 

"Who said it was funny? This is business." He pressed a button and put the phone up to his ear, then held out the phone to Rodney. "You take it." 

"Hello?" 

"I told you to do what Cowen wanted, McKay." 

"Kolya?" Rodney flexed his hand around the phone. "Where are you?" 

"Kavanagh and I are visiting some old friends of yours." 

"What...." Rodney glanced over at Cowen. "What are you going to do?" 

"That's up to the boss. Right now, we're all having breakfast together, until I have other orders." 

"Orders?" Rodney's lips tightened into a hard line. He had to think of some way out of this. He knew he was smart, and now it was time to put some of those brains to use. 

"You ready to make a deal now, Rodney?" Cowen came up behind him and laid his hand on Rodney's shoulder; instantly, Rodney jerked away. "I can make it worth your while." 

"Knock it off." Rodney ground the words out, feeling himself start to shake. He could do this, he could, if he just had a moment to think— "Put Sheppard on." 

* * *

Kolya strolled across the room and held the phone out to John. "A friend of yours on the line. He's got a couple of things he wants to tell you." 

"I have nothing to say to Dr. McKay." John wished this whole day were over. 

"Oh?" Kolya dropped the phone in his pocket and turned his gun on Elizabeth. "You haven't? Shall I start with her, and work my way down the line, until you finally have something to say?" 

"That's barbaric!" Elizabeth said, while Radek slumped against Carson. 

"It's okay, love. We'll get out all right," Carson said softly. "I'm sure." 

"I have seen this before," Radek murmured. "There is no escape." 

"Don't move, you two," Kavanagh said, from where he had the room covered near the head of the table. 

"Give me that," John said, as Kolya took out the phone again. He grabbed it and shoved it against his ear. "Hello." 

"John? Are you okay?" 

"We're fine. Just having...jam and toast. Your friends are here." Kolya watched him intently as he talked, and John shifted slightly, so he wouldn't have to look at him. 

"Kolya and Kavanagh are no one's friends." Rodney's voice was sharp and sad, and John flushed, knowing he was being made a fool of. 

"Listen, I don't know why you called." John gritted his teeth, trying to pull himself in tight so no one could see how badly he was shaken just by hearing Rodney's voice again. He was married to Cowen, now. Why was he still...messing with them? "There's nothing to be gained by holding us like this. We weren't going to the police—" 

"It's okay, John." Rodney said softly, his voice like a caress against John's tight skin. "It'll be over soon. Just don't...don't go crazy and try anything stupid. They're under orders to leave you alone and—" 

"Sheppard." Cowen's voice came on the line, hard and cruel, and God, what did Rodney see in a mobster like that? He couldn't believe that Rodney was in it just for the money, no matter what the evidence said. 

"Yes?" A chill settled over John, and he felt himself relaxing with it. Anger, cold, crisp anger bubbled within him, and John reached out and embraced it. "I warn you Cowen, if you harm Rodney...." He let his voice drift off, as he wasn't sure exactly what he would do if that happened. He just knew that if that happened, he might do exactly what Rodney told him not to do, and go a little mad. 

"Aren't you two lovebirds the funniest couple? You threaten me about hurting Rodney, and Rodney threatens me about hurting you, and you won't even talk to each other. Put Kolya on." 

John handed the phone over and headed back to the rest of the team to check on Radek. 

Only, when he got there, he found that Carson's supportive embrace was there to shield what Radek was working on from the gangsters. He had the large diamond out, and was using it to focus the sunlight into a pinpoint spot on Kolya's leg, just below the knee. 

He shrugged when John looked at him, a "what else could I do?" expression on his face. 

John gave him a swift smile, but internally, he sighed. Giving Kolya a hot foot wasn't going to get them anywhere. 

"Okay, we'll wait for the call," Kolya said. "And congratulations." He thumbed the phone off and stuck it in his pocket again, looking over at Kavanagh. "Now all we have to do is wait for the all clear." 

Kavanagh nodded, and settled into the nearest chair, propping his feet on the table and his gun in his lap. "When's that?" 

Kolya looked around, and pulled up a stool near the outside entrance, blocking the door. "Sometime after the ceremony." 

"You mean they aren't married yet?" John's heart pounded as he turned around to stare at Kolya. 

"You think we'd have you under lock and key if they were?" 

"I...I...I don't know." It ran completely counter to John's understanding of the matter—or rather, what he'd told himself of the situation. Maybe...maybe he had it wrong. 

"Yeah, McKay wouldn't marry Cowen," Kavanagh said flatly. "They've been together for three years, and suddenly, McKay has a sore throat." He snorted. "Couldn't say yes." 

"He couldn't say yes?" John felt a smile break out on his face, and oh, he wanted to laugh. The cold searing anger that he'd felt melted as he realized one thing: Rodney loved him. He couldn't marry Cowen as he was in love with John. "You are an incredibly ugly man, but at the moment, I could kiss you." 

Kolya snorted. "Try it on Kavanagh, will ya? He's not as picky as I am." 

John turned around and beamed at the group. "Don't you see? Apparently, it requires those two gentlemen with their guns leveled at us to get Rodney to marry Cowen." 

"I see," said Elizabeth as she steepled her fingers. 

"Oh!" said Parrish, sitting upright. 

"Got ya," said Lorne, nodding. 

"Holy Hannah," said Sam, whistling. 

"I believe you are correct," added Teyla, her eyes sparking with delight. 

"Oh, my," said Carson. 

"I already knew that," said Radek from somewhere behind Carson. 

"Huh," grunted Ronon. 

"Break it up," Kolya yelled. "And go sit down." 

"I'm afraid we can't allow the marriage to go forward, what with that being the case," said Carson. 

"Oh, you can't, can you? What do you think we're here for?" Kavanagh aimed his gun and shattered one of the lights. "We told you all to sit down." 

"Don't you think someone will come if you shoot your weapons indiscriminately like that?" Elizabeth said. "I should think you're like to keep us all quiet." 

"Listen, sister," Kavanagh snarled. "We paid everyone to take the day off. Ain't no one here but ourselves." 

"Now get back there and sit down!" Kolya yelled, and the group fled back to their section of the carpeting across the room from them. 

"What the hell is going on?" Caldwell, the bus driver from John's slang sessions, said running into the room. "I got everyone's luggage—" 

That instant of distraction was all it took. As one, Teyla and Sam grabbed for the table that Kavanagh was propped up on and gave it a shove, sending him crashing to the ground; Parrish ripped the tie-back from off of the curtains and tossed it to Lorne, who trussed Kavanagh up and sat back on his heels, hands in the air, like a Rodeo star. 

Meanwhile, Radek focused the diamond's light one Kolya's eyes, blinding him, and Ronon tackled him to the ground, pinning him; John kicked his gun away while Elizabeth picked up Kavanagh's. 

"What the fuck was that?" Caldwell said, glancing around the room where everyone was laughing with exhausted relief. 

* * *

Rodney had too much time to think while they waited for the wedding commissioner to get back from lunch. He knew, deep down inside himself, that if he pushed he could come up with something—some lie, some trick, some distraction—that could possibly, potentially get him out of this yet. 

The clock ticked another minute by, and he still had nothing. 

Maybe in some other universe he'd been pushed hard enough that he could think fast enough to figure it out, but in this one, he'd learned to speak quickly, without thought, and just let his mouth lead him. He'd learned to dodge and sway and avoid things, run away rather than hit anything head-on, and Cowen was used to his tricks. 

So they sat silent in the darkened chamber, the curtains closed against possible observers, listening to time tick by. 

* * *

"Everyone on the bus," Caldwell yelled, leading the group outside. A huge black tour bus with "YourPartyBus.COM" emblazoned on it stood at the building's entrance, and he slid into the driver's seat. "Someone has to tell me where were going." 

"Can anyone trace a phone number?" Elizabeth stuffed her hand into Kolya's pocket, while he glared at her from his roped and gagged positon on the floor, and pulled out his cell phone. 

"That's easy," said Sam, "if you have a laptop." 

Elizabeth nodded at her briefcase, sitting on the overhead rack. "It's set up with wi-fi access. I just need to enter a code." 

"Cool." Sam grinned. 

While Elizabeth and Sam traced the last call placed, John sank back against the seat, watching as Ronon secured an unconscious Kavanagh and a struggling Kolya across the aisle from each other at the back of the bus. 

"That's a nasty wound." Carson shook his head, looking at Kavanagh. "I should check him." 

"He'll live," Ronon said. "This is the one you should worry about." He prodded Kolya. 

"Yes, well, I may have a solution for that." Carson scanned the luggage until he spotted his bag, then he pulled it down and rummaged around in it, until he found a small black bag. "Here we are." 

John glanced over at Elizabeth. "I'm sorry about this. It could get dangerous." 

Elizabeth lifted her eyebrow and smiled crookedly at him. "I don't think you'll have to worry about your job, John. Once I let O'Neill know about the...extenuating circumstances." She tilted her head at Kolya. "I'm sure he'll change his mind." 

"Got it!" Sam yelled to Caldwell. "Last call was made in a town called Agassiz." 

Caldwell checked his GPS on the dashboard. "It'll be about an hour, and we'll need more details than that." 

Carson opened his case and pulled out a long, white feather. "Oh, I'm sure that he'll be willing to talk." 

Radek ripped aside Kolya's shirt, and Kolya started yelling and laughing the instant the feather brushed his skin. 

* * *

Cowen was at his most stiff and formal as he spoke, his two goons acting as witnesses for the ceremony. "I, Edmund Cowen—" 

"Wow, with a name like that, no wonder you turned to a life of crime." Rodney didn't even try to keep his voice down. As near as Rodney could figure, the wedding commissioner was deaf, as he didn't listen to a thing Rodney said. 

"Take you, Rodney McKay," Cowen continued. 

"Who hates and despises you," Rodney muttered. 

"To be your lawful wedded husband," prompted the commissioner. 

"To be my lawful wedded...husband." Cowen smirked and Rodney rolled his eyes. Yeah, like this marriage was going to last. 

"For better, for worse—" 

"Definitely for worse." Rodney waved his hand in the air. 

"For richer, for poorer," continued Cowen. "In sickness and in health—" 

"Yeah, I'm getting sick right now." 

"Cut it out, McKay." Cowen turned to the commissioner. "Where were we?" 

Rodney heard something then, right outside the closed-off windows. Someone was singing—no, not someone, a whole bunch of someones and most of 'em couldn't carry a tune. He started smiling as the voices grew louder, shaking off Cowen's arm when he tried to get Rodney's attention. 

"It's over," Rodney said, clicking his tongue and pointing his finger like a gun. "And you lost." 

The door burst open, and Carson and Radek practically fell into the room, with Sam and Teyla a step behind them. Teyla had Kolya's gun in her hand while Sam had Kavanagh's and each of them had a wicked gleam in her eye that dared anyone to act up. 

Rodney made a mental note not to get on their bad sides. 

Parrish, Lorne, and Ronon burst in from the side door, and while they didn't have guns, Ronon had a look in his eye that made Rodney feel chilled, and it wasn't even turned against him. He stalked forward easily, his hands flexing as he walked, as if he would take all of them apart with his hands. 

Cowen grabbed Rodney with one hand and whipped out his gun with the other. "Back door," he yelled at the two men with him, dragging Rodney with him, gun pressed against his back. 

The professors ignored Cowen, pressing forward as Cowen's gang retreated out of the room. Rodney couldn't see Sheppard, and his heart pounded, wondering what had happened to him. 

Daylight sprang up behind him; someone must have reached the back door. 

Then Cowen stumbled, and the gun was gone from his back, and Rodney darted away, turning around to watch Sheppard pick up the gun and toss it aside, glaring murderously at Cowen. 

If he thought Ronon had been fierce, it was nothing compared with Sheppard. There was no grace or finesse in how he tackled Cowen, just animal desperation. He landed punch after punch, going for the most vulnerable spots with a focused enthusiasm that bordered on the frightening. Rodney knew he had to stop it 

"Hey!" he shouted, waving his hand. "Over here! Alive. Ready to get out of this place." 

"Rodney?" John's head jerked up, and Cowen landed a good one. 

Rodney winced. "Yeah, fine. The rest of them are tied up. Elizabeth's making a few phone calls to the Mounties or whoever and they'll be here shortly. So you could think about stopping your pissing match any time." 

"Just one more punch, okay?" 

"Sure, sure. Just make sure you don't bleed all over my wedding vest, okay? I don't want to look like hell for the photos." 

"No problem," said John, and hit Cowen one last time. 

* * *

Elizabeth called O'Neill and explained the situation, and O'Neill made a few calls of his own. They hauled away Cowen's group, while noises were made about kidnapping, blackmail, and threats to wedding commissioners. Someone—Carson, probably—had insisted that everyone sit down to a cup of tea in the parlor, and finally, at last, Rodney thought he might stop shaking as he sat curled up in an armchair. 

Now that he could think, he realized how strange this whole thing was. "This isn't going to work," he said abruptly, turning to look at the group. "You want someone with a real education—" 

"Oh, we'll teach you!" Carson said, and glanced at Elizabeth. "Off hours of course." 

"You need to eat better anyway," Ronon agreed. 

"And I need an assistant," said Radek. 

"So do I!" said Parrish. 

"And I," added Teyla. "I'm sure that there are many ways that you could help out on the project, Rodney " 

"You're all insane. Each and every one of you." Rodney shook his head, his mouth set in a stubborn line. He knew the world wasn't made of fairy tales, and that it was better if he disappeared, rather than letting them get dragged down with him. 

John cleared his throat, and Rodney finally looked at him. "You'll have to learn that there are times when words simply cease to be of use." He pulled Rodney up out of the chair, his hand warm. "Come here." He pulled Rodney in close, so their lips almost met. 

Rodney's heart raced, John's warmth so near, so tantalizing— "That's not fair, John. That's not—" 

John's arms wrapped around his shoulders as their lips brushed in a gentle kiss, but Rodney couldn't let it stay gentle for long. He wanted to give John everything, lay it all right out there for John to take, and it didn't matter if he got anything in return. Just being with John—holding him, kissing him, touching him—was more than enough. 

"Oh, I say," said Parrish. "Don't you think they should breathe?" 

Rodney opened his eyes and caught Lorne's smile as he said, "Naah. They're doing fine. Maybe we should follow their example." He tugged Parrish into his arms, and gave him a kiss as well. 

Impressed with his ability to start a trend, Rodney closed his eyes and let himself sink into John's kiss. 


End file.
